


Crossguard

by Bespectacled_Bunny



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Deviates From Canon, F/M, Fix-It, General Shenanigans, Original Character(s), Original Female Character - Freeform, Slow Burn, Work In Progress, lots of confused feelings in here, no one dies, the slowest of slow burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2018-12-08 06:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11641275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bespectacled_Bunny/pseuds/Bespectacled_Bunny
Summary: The stubbornness of dwarves is legendary, but what about that of an elf? Determined to meet the Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities herself, Elëira Crossguard decides to enlist in a particular Company and see them through their journey. Armed with a set of magical skills and a pair of indestructible bracers, she will see this adventure to its end, regardless of the obstacles, both within and beyond.





	1. Chapter 1

In a copse of trees, there lived an elven maiden. She had worked hard to create her home, carefully nurturing each and every tree from a seedling with nothing but water, soil, and her voice. She was far from the forest in which she was born, and far from the other elves which shared her talent. However, despite her distance from home, she was happy to be learning about other parts of the world which she inhabited. Her travels had brought her to a land called Middle-Earth, which she was interested to learn had a population of elves such as herself. These elves, however, were very different. They held different values and had a different type of magic, as they could live forever.

However, this is not a story about different elves. This is the tale of a hobbit, a gaggle of dwarves, a mountain, and, because fate deemed it so, Elëira Crossguard.

It all started one morning when a loud commotion drew Elëira outside. She rubbed her eyes in amazement, gazing at a company of people all mounted on ponies galloping fiercely in her direction. She watched as they approached, and her keen ears picked up on shouts, the leader telling his companions to keep looking forward and ignore the orcs chasing them. Fascinated, the elfin maid raised her voice in song. Through the power of her voice and the compelling strains of her music, she asked the grass to grow thick and strong, wrapping around the legs of the murderous creatures. The vegetation obliged her, thorny vines springing forth to seize the orcs and completely halt their movement. She held them immobile for a time, and once they ceased to struggle, she freed them and watched them flee.

“Here! It is safe!” She shouted towards the company of people, relieved as they slowed and approached her. Upon closer inspection, she realized that there were fifteen of them in total: thirteen dwarves with beards, one without, and then a taller, old man wearing a pointed hat.

“Who are you, and why did you save us?” A dwarf with a kingly bearing rode closest to her, glaring at her from the saddle.

“Your group appeared to be in trouble, and I simply acted upon instinct.” She smiled slightly, wanting to show that she was not a threat to them. “Why are you all travelling here, instead of on the road?”

“I am afraid that we were chased off the road.” The tall, grey-bearded fellow chuckled, nodding in her direction. “We stumbled upon a raiding party. Now that they know of us, they will surely be back. And your actions have not won you safety from the orcs. Why are _you_ out here, seemingly alone?”

“I live here.” She gestured to the trees behind her, all of which appeared too large and old to have sprouted on a plain. “Your ponies must be exhausted from that run, why not allow them to rest for a time?”

A mutter went up among the dwarves, but the one without a beard hopped down from his mount and immediately lead it to a good patch of grass. “I’m going to take her up on that offer. Bilbo Baggins is my name, and I cannot thank you enough for helping us.”

“You are most welcome!” She smiled at him, stepping closer to lay her palm upon the pony’s neck and give it a soft pat. “My name is Elëira.”

With the approval of Bilbo, the rest of the company dismounted and came forward to introduce themselves. The first were a pair of young brothers, a blond and a brunet, who stated their names as Fili and Kili respectively, and gave the elf a curt bow. She bowed back to them in response, the hem of her robe brushing at the grass around her feet. They were followed by another set of brothers, this one much older, and very different in their personalities. Dwalin was taller than his brother Balin, and far gruffer. His shaved head was covered in tattoos, as opposed to the natural white curls upon Balin’s head. The other dwarves could also be broken into different groups of relations, with half-brothers Dori, Nori, and Ori, brothers Oin and Gloin, and the kinsmen Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur.

The tallest member of the group leaned upon his staff as he approached the woman, icy blue eyes glinting out from beneath bushy eyebrows. “I am known as Gandalf the Grey, though you may find it more comfortable to call me Mithrandir.” His eyes twinkled now, and both of them realized that they were able to put clues together. Elëira could tell that this was a man of great magic, even more than she, and the grey wanderer was easily able to deduce that the lady before him was of elven stock, though the remainder of the company seemed yet unaware of her heritage.

Finally, the leader of the company announced his name. He was called Thorin Oakenshield, and he was the rightful heir to the dwarven kingdom of Erebor, which had been stolen away many years ago by the dragon Smaug. They were on a journey to kill the intruding beast and restore the kingdom to its former glory, a fact which he begrudgingly divulged after a bit of prodding by his tall, grey companion.

Elëira simply blinked when he revealed his purpose. She had never heard of this kingdom, this dragon, or a quest to reclaim it. “I’m sorry for your loss, though... I do not know much about this land.” Her hand rose to shoulder level, fiddling with the single, thin braid that hung long from the crown of her head. “However, I know much about needing rest after a long period of travel. I would like to welcome you into my home for the night.” She drew them to her copse of trees, pulling back a curtain of long vines to show them the entrance. Inside was a spacious clearing with a roof formed of leaves, allowing warm sunlight to dapple through to the floor. Elëira had used her instinctual magic to coax the trees into growing, and through it she formed her living quarters. A table and bench flowed seamlessly from a single tree, and branches were woven together and threaded with moss to make a bower for her to sleep in. The rest of the space was mostly empty, though the ground was soft underfoot from a layer of moss.

“Did you make this all yourself?” Asked Thorin, crossing his arms and expressing discomfort at the overall small space.

“Aye, that I did.” Elëira placed her palm against the bark of one of her trees. “I sat here and sang for days, urging these trees to grow tall and strong, and to flow into the shapes I asked of them.” She wrapped her hand around a bough and pulled herself up now, climbing upwards to the canopy of her home. There, she was pleased to find that fruit was growing, a mix of berries and stonefruits. She gathered as much as she could into the outer layer of her robe and then held it tightly like a pouch as she slid back down, offering the bounty to her new guests. The dwarves first grumbled about the lack of protein, but the rumble of hungry bellies soon made them quiet down and accept.

“Tell me, how does one sing to plants and expect them to grow? Seems like magic nonsense to me.” The gruff Dwalin muttered something under his breath to the leader of the company in a tongue that Elëira did not understand.

“It is magic, but it is not nonsense! It is a special gift among my people. Through offerings of words and water, we can create what we may need.” She reached down and plucked a small piece of moss from the ground, sure to keep its roots intact. She began to hum to it, cupping it in her hands, and soon words began to flow from her mouth. The words were of no language spoken between tongues, but the meaning itself was instinctively understood. Through soft coaxing and a small dose of water, the moss began to swell in her hands, spreading outwards until it drooped over the sides of her grip and stretched towards the ground. “This is the inborn ability of wood elves.”

Suddenly, there was a choking and sputtering noise rising from Thorin. He spat out the mouthful of berries he had just taken in. “You are an elf?”

“Yes, I am. Are you ill?” Her brow rose in concern. “I did not mean to startle you, I simply believed that the information was irrelevant for now.” She shook her head rapidly, and her hair shifted to show off the pointed tips of her ears.

“We are leaving.” He practically leapt to his feet. “Now!”

“Wait a minute—Thorin!” Bilbo stood up. “Don’t be rude, she helped us out and gave us food and a place to rest. Would you throw it all away just because you have some sort of grudge against elves?”

“You are in no position to argue with me. I lead this company, and I am the one who determines what this company does.” He grabbed out at the vines that covered the entrance, batting them to the side.

“What do you even have against elves?” Elëira stood as well.

“When our people were desolate and homeless, _your_ king looked at us and turned his back! He left our entire kingdom to burn. Even before then, elves were selfish and refused to give us our due. _That_ is why I cannot stand Thranduil, and why I cannot stand elves.” The would-be king snarled these words, flashes of pain crossing his face. “This company will have nothing more to do with your kind.”

“My kind…? Wait, did you say that the elves have a king?” Her brows furrowed in deep confusion. “I have heard no such news. I am not of this land…” Before she could finish speaking, Thorin had strode from her dwelling. Many of his company followed him, but a few dwarves remained behind.

Bilbo stayed as well, though he wore a great frown. “I am so, _so_ sorry, miss Elëira. This is ridiculous.”

“It is alright.” She sinks down to the floor, comforting herself with the feeling of the moss. “Though, I am afraid that I know next to nothing about the elves which live in this land, much less the other people. My home is across the sea, and I ventured here alone.”

“Well, I can tell you most anything about hobbits.” He offered her a smile now, the tip of his nose scrunching in an endearing manner.

“You are very sweet, Mr. Baggins.” She returned his smile. “Tell me, how did a kind hobbit such as yourself become part of a company lead by…him?”

“I simply gave our hobbit here a little nudge out the door.” Gandalf smiled, stroking his long beard. “The company needed a burglar in order to assure that they can retake their kingdom, and I selected Bilbo.” He produced a long-stemmed pipe from his robes and brought the end to his lips, creating a tiny flame at the tip of his finger to light it.

“And please note that he selected me without actually asking me first.” Bilbo grumbled. “Do you do this every time that you need to gather people together?” When the wizard responded with a noncommittal grunt, the hobbit sighed.

“So…” She glanced around. “What can you tell me about this dragon?”

The hobbit scrunched his brow as he tried to remember what he had been told at his unexpected party, what seemed like ages ago. “From what I’ve gathered of it, Thorin was once a prince. The dwarves lived in a kingdom beneath a mountain, known as Erebor. They had many riches, and that is what drew Smaug to them. He devastated the entire kingdom, drove all the survivors off. Hasn’t been seen again, though, so for all we know he’s still in there.”

Elëira frowned, her own mind now recalling things she had learned long ago. A dragon being attracted to treasure seemed like typical behavior, but devastating an entire kingdom over it was unheard of. “That… that does not seem right. Dragons gather their own hoard, they do not steal it from others…”

“I don’t know where you’ve come from, lassie, but you obviously haven’t learned much about dragons if you don’t know that they’re greedy, vile beasts that would kill you as soon as look at you.” Bofur spoke, the flaps of his hat flapping as his head moved.

"I doubt you have met many dragons either, seeing as how you call them vicious and yet you still live." She replied coolly now. "I suppose I'll have to teach you, as your ideas are obviously all wrong."

He shook his head and stood up from his seat on the grass, peering outside. "There'll be no time for that, lass. Looks like Thorin's moving on." The fallen prince had remounted his pony, and when he saw the other dwarf's face he shouted in the dwarven tongue. "Thanks for the assistance back there. We'll be off now."

The elfin maid sputtered in disbelief. "Oh no you won't! Not without me!" She spoke without thinking, something compelling her to object to their departure. 

Bofur glanced at his fellows, blinked in surprise for a few moments, and then burst into laughter, making the elf blush in embarrassment. "Listen, lass, some fancy singing and plants aren't going to help us fight a dragon. You'd be better off staying here. Besides, we're all contracted to go on this journey. We don't have supplies for you, or a pony, and frankly, none of us would actually  _want_ you with us."

Elëira steeled herself, and drew up to her full height. "I do not care for your wants, dwarf. I did not cross oceans to come here, just to be talked down to and considered a burden before you even bothered to learn anything about me. I'm afraid that I can be stubborn to a fault, and you've just brought that down upon yourself." She retrieved a brown leather satchel from an alcove, opening it to reveal the only relics of her previous travels. She took off her outer robe, trading it out for her kit of light leather armor.  She strapped on her pauldrons and bracers, feeling the familiar hum of the enchantments placed upon them centuries ago. "Keep your contract, for I have no need of a piece of parchment to tell me what I would do." Her weaponry was simple, a pair of twin daggers, sheathed at the sides of her boots. "But I would wish to see this dragon for myself, for I am a woman who seeks knowledge."

"You'll have to talk to Thorin about that..." The dwarf was clearly uncomfortable now, practically squirming in his seat at Eleira's declarations.

"Then I shall!" She now stormed from her home, swiftly approaching the prince. "I'm coming with you." She announced. "I expect nor demand payment, as I neither expect nor demand proof of contract."

"I would not give them to you, regardless." He stiffened in the saddle, eye-level with the elf. "By what right have you to expect to accompany us on this quest?"

"By right of existence. I live, and as a living thing I am capable of making my own choices. I choose to follow this company, so I might see this world and learn of its wonders. Need I continue to make my point?"

Thorin shared a long look with Dwalin, communicating via looks alone. After a moment, he shook his head. "You have five minutes to ready yourself. If you fall behind, you will be left. You will fend for yourself, as we have no supplies to spare. And if you consider, even for a moment, interfering with my quest, you will be put down without mercy. What say you of these terms?"

Elëira smirked. "I'll be ready in two minutes."

"Prove it." He looked upon his fellows. "We ride east, along the Bruinen." He announced. "Then, we shall see just how this journey unfolds."

With a grin on her face, the elf-maid returned to her home to bid it farewell, and to gather her few possessions. Her heart filled with excitement as she looked out across the plain for a final time. She was ready. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you for taking the time to read this obvious self-indulgence. Elëira is many things to me. She is an original character of mine, created for an original work that I'm writing with my fiance. I've also used her in D&D campaigns, and as the basis upon which I built numerous video game player characters. I've even cosplayed her before! She's got quite a few surprises in store for these poor dwarves, that's for sure. I hope you enjoy it, and look forward to what I get to next!


	2. Chapter 2

The company journeyed slowly through the plains, leisurely following the Bruinen as the Misty Mountains grew ever closer. For her part, Elëira stuck close to the back of the line, though she knew her stride would easily allow her to keep pace with the lead pony. If she started getting too close, a quick glare from Thorin would catch her, and she would sink back to avoid conflict.

Now that she was travelling with the gaggle of dwarves, she couldn’t help but begin to reconsider her actions. What in the world had compelled her to insist upon accompanying so many people who obviously did not appreciate her? Throughout her past, she had considered herself a loner, with thousands of years to live and no need to concern herself with the opinions of others. Truly, she did not _have_ to accept their treatment, but if she ever wanted to meet this dragon named Smaug, she figured that she would have to play along.

* * *

 

As night fell, the company decided to make their camp next to a rock formation jutting upwards out of the plains. Bombur set up a campfire underneath an overhang, retrieving a cooking pot and several links of sausage from his pack. He started humming as he sliced them into a stew, and the rest of the dwarves fanned out into their own little groups. Elëira settled down under a short pine tree about forty paces from the rest of the group, watching as Bilbo and Gandalf tended to their mounts. A little smile crossed her lips as she watched the hobbit sneak an apple out of his pocket and slip it to his pony, whispering sweet nothings to Myrtle.

Before too long, the sausage and potato stew was finished, as the rotund dwarf announced in a soft voice. The company eagerly gathered around the fire with bowls carved from wood and spoons they had whittled, clamoring for their share. Elëira held back, the scent of the meat alien to her senses. In times like these, back when she was home, she would simply summon one of her familiars, and ask them to guide her to the closest fruit-bearing tree. She knew they would be eager to see her, and she thought that she could use familiar faces.

Elëira brought her hands together and then placed them palms down upon the ground, seeking energy from the earth to access her magic. In a tongue lost to the ages, she spoke out _“From the depths of the earth, I would seek to reach you. Let my energy flow from my world unto yours and bring you form. Hear my contract, Tadgh, and appear before me now!”_ She pressed hard into the dirt, expecting to feel a rush of power flowing through her body. To her utter disbelief, her hands remained dark, no golden light emerging to form a figure before her.

“Why didn’t that work?” She exclaimed, rubbing her hands on her breeches, trying to get a grip on exactly how much magic energy flowed through this land. Back home, summoning her familiars was as simple as breathing. In this new land of Middle-Earth, however, it seemed as though magic was a rare commodity, which could only be wrought in places where the energy flowed correctly.

“Damnable!” Elëira muttered now, staring at her folded legs.

“They’re not all that bad.” A pair of fuzzy feet stopped just within her gaze, causing her to look up in alarm. “It’s alright, it’s just me.” Bilbo had come over, a bowl of stew in his hands. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

She blinked a few times before shaking her head. “I’m sorry. We don’t eat meat…”

The hobbit sat down on the ground beside her. “Oh well, that means more for me.” He ate a bit of the stew, chewing it tentatively. “You know, from all I’ve heard of elves, none of you eat meat. Why is that?”

“Well, not _all_ of us don’t eat meat. It’s a bit of an old tradition, at least in my village.” She rifled through her pack, finding a plum that she had tucked away. “At the beginnings of our history, there was a woman who they say was so in tune with nature that she could feel the pain of every living creature. In order to escape it, she would only ever eat plants, and eventually she became a plant herself… To honor her, none of us eat meat anymore.” With the edge of her thumbnail, she carefully cut into the skin of the fruit, scoring it about the middle before grasping it and twisting it apart, exposing the pit. She popped the clean half into her mouth and then pried the seed out, putting it away in a special pocket within her pack.

“Wow, that’s…fascinating.” Bilbo said, caught off-guard with his spoon halfway to his mouth. “Would you tell me more?”

Elëira smiled. “I would enjoy it greatly.” 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, back by the fire, Thorin was watching this exchange with narrowed eyes. “I still don’t like that she’s here, Gandalf. None of us know anything about her, and she’s an _elf.”_

“Whether you enjoy her company or not is not the concern here. She saved all of our lives, and you have to give her credit for her quick thinking.” The wizard was puffing on his pipe, as per usual. “Though I must admit, I too know nothing of our new companion.”

Balin paused from running a fine-toothed comb through his beard. “You know, if you simply _spoke_ to her, I doubt this would be an issue.” He jerked his head towards where the elf and hobbit were consumed in conversation. “He’s got the right idea.”

“Surely, you cannot mean that.” The King under the Mountain practically glared at his advisor. “Balin, you saw how the elves wronged us, with your own eyes. You know that they are a cruel, unfeeling people who value their gemstones over our lives.”

“And if you had listened for even a moment, you would be able to tell immediately that she is not one of their lot.” The dwarf with a beard like snow shook his head. “Just look at her, even. And tell me what you see.”

Thorin huffed, rolling his eyes. “I see an elf who will cause no end of trouble for this company, mark my words.”

“Look closer than that, Thorin. Just take in the things that set her apart from Thranduil’s ilk, and then tell me that she’s like them.”

Begrudgingly, he did as he was told, training his eyes on the elf maid. He started at the crown of her head, examining how she had cropped her blond hair short without watching a mirror. It was jagged and uneven in its length, aside from one single braid that hung down to her shoulder. It was messy, and bound by a strip of bark. “She cut her hair poorly.” He commented. Even a dwarf barely out of diapers could tie a braid better than she could.

“Yes, I’ll admit that. Continue.”

“She’s got a tattoo on her forehead…it looks like a vine. It reminds me of a circlet, or a diadem.”

“You’re observant, keep going.”

Thorin squinted, shifting from his seat upon a rock. “Her armor is worn, and it looks like she’s got too little of it. The leather is all scratched, and all she’s got are pauldrons and bracers… Plus those two curved daggers of hers. Shouldn’t she have a bow?”

Kili let out a chuckle from where he was lying on his bedroll. “We don’t need more than one archer in the company, uncle. I can shoot enough for two people!”

“Don’t get too cocky, Kili. Remember, your mother made me swear to bring you home safely.” Thorin’s eyes crinkled up with a smile. “Anyways. Her tunic is green, everything else is brown…does this have a point, Balin?”

“Yes, it does, Thorin.” Fili piped in now with a comment about how her ears were short, and Balin quickly shushed him. “Now, I want you to take all those observations you’ve just made, all of the physical parts of her, and forget about them. Look at the lass as a _person,_ and tell me all of the things that she’s done so far.”

“She fed us fruit from her own home.” Bombur said, his quiet voice being the first to contribute. “It was delicious.”

“And when she sang to that plant, it was truly beautiful…” Dori added. “I haven’t heard a voice that fine since our last trip to the Iron Hills, in Dain’s hall.” Several murmurs of agreement came up in response.

“Not to mention, she scared off those orcs.” Balin nodded, seemingly content with what he had heard. “It’s settled, then. She’ll come along, and we’ll stop giving her grief. Understood, Thorin?” The King under the Mountain balked, but when he met the eyes of his company, he put his objections to the side.

“Fine. But, the first _instance_ of anything going wrong, and she is getting left behind without a second thought. That is my decree.” 

* * *

 

As the night passed on, the company drifted off to sleep around the fire, with Elëira volunteering herself to stay up and take watch. She did not need nearly as much sleep as her companions did, and knew she would be satisfied with a quick nap as the sun began to rise. Instead, she perched herself upon the top of the rocky outcropping and scanned the horizon. The moon was bright that night, bathing the landscape in a silver glow. The elf maid began to sing quietly to herself, in order to pass the time. She crooned the words of a hymn to the goddess of the moon, Temdione.

_O Temdione, watchful guardian of night,_

_Turn your enlightened eye upon us below._

_Let this night pass without trouble, and by day may we be blessed._

_O Temdione, benevolent goddess of the moon,_

_Allow us to once again meet your gaze,_

_For after each night there must come a day._

_O Temdione, glorious upon high,_

_Follow our lives evermore, even as you sleep,_

_And gift us with peace._

Little did she know, multiple sets of ears had picked up on her absentminded melody. Nearly the entire company had stirred and woken from her voice, laying still within their blankets, barely breathing in order to hear every note. The remainder of the night passed quickly once they slipped into slumber once again, and when the morning came, no one brought it up.

* * *

 

Gandalf took the lead once the party began moving, remaining cryptic about the destination he had in mind. He had left and returned at some point during the night, managing to go undetected even under Elëira’s watch. He had something hidden beneath the sash of his robes now, and it was obvious that he was taking great pains to keep it out of sight. The company rode in relative silence through a section of dense forest, which suddenly opened up into a valley nestled in the mountains. When confronted with his mysterious guidance, the wizard merely smiled, and replied.

“Welcome, dear friends, to the valley of Imladris.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! Thanks for checking out my second chapter. Time to wonder what shenanigans this lot will get up to in Rivendell!
> 
> Anyways, I greatly appreciate everyone who left me kudos, and I hope that you'll continue to enjoy what I'm writing.


	3. Chapter 3

Upon arrival in Rivendell, Elëira was amazed to find a population of elves who preferred the surroundings of a lush valley, with intricate halls formed of stone. The head of the household, Lord Elrond, was equally as surprised to find an elf maid insisting upon tagging along with a company of dwarves, much to the distaste of their leader. However, all were welcome in the last Homely House, and a feast was prepared in their honor.

In the interim, lodgings were given to the group of companions, though a few of the dark-haired elven maidens insisted upon bringing Elëira to her own chamber, despite her wishes to remain close to Bilbo and the rest.

Before the food was served, the company was escorted to a visitor’s chamber, allowing them the chance to sleep in real beds and feel creature comforts again. Elëira had barely stepped over the threshold when she noticed two elf-maids peeking at her from behind a column, tittering amongst themselves. When the confused blonde gave them a confused wave, they burst into giggles before emerging. “Do you truly mean to spend the night in such company?” The one on the left asked her.

“Yes, and I’m going to spend many more nights around them. I’m travelling with them.”

“Not tonight, surely.” The maiden on the left with hair as dark as night stepped forth to clasp Elëira’s hand in hers. “We rarely receive visitors who intend to remain in this land. So many of our kin are leaving, to sail across the sea…”

“I came from across the sea to reach this place.”

“Then you must tell us what it is like!” The other maiden, with hair shaded as the bark of a tree, took up Elëira’s other hand. “Please, we would wish to know.”

“Well…” The blonde looked towards the group of dwarves, who may as well have forgotten her existence, then back to the two insistent elves. “Alright. I’ll tell you everything I can.”

The left-hand maiden grinned widely. “Wonderful! I am called Aphadrien, and my sister is Cail. You can tell us your stories as we prepare you for supper.”

“Prepare?” Elëira was uncertain, but the two sisters had already started pulling her away.

“You will be dining in the company of Lord Elrond this evening, along with many fine elven kin.” Aphadrien smiled again as she drew Elëira towards a separate guest chamber. “Hence, you must look the part.”

Cail nodded in agreement. “When travelling the wilds with those sort, one can forget the comfort of clean skin and fine clothes. We would like to remind you of them.”

She had a point, Elëira had to agree with that. She could not easily remember the last time that she had bathed in water that was not wild. She stopped dragging her feet and now eagerly followed her hosts, coming to a stop in a small bathing room. In the center was a recession large enough for one to sit in, with a large spout rising up from the stone floor. Aphadrien turned a handle and made steaming water begin to flow, filling the tub and dropping several sweet-smelling leaves into the swirling water. Cail began to help Elëira out of her armor, setting it on a bench to the side. Her nose wrinkled at the sight of the dirt that had collected on the blonde’s body, making her feel like a child who had been caught playing in mud.

“We’ll have to get these washed for you.” She quickly and efficiently stripped the blonde, who instinctively clapped her hands over her undergarments. “Come now, you need not be modest amongst us. We’re all women here.” With a deep breath, Elëira relaxed herself, allowing Cail to remove the soft linen she covered her most intimate areas with before stepping into the perfumed water. She began scrubbing at herself, watching the once clear water start to change color at all the filth being removed from her skin.

Aphadrien retrieved a small decanter from a shelf and poured a bit of fragrant oil into Elëira’s hair before coming at it with a comb. She tutted at how messy the braid was, and at how it was bound with merely a strip of flexible bark. “I see you have not seen a mirror in some time. We’ll trim your hair evenly, but it is a pity that it is so short.”

“Don’t touch the braid!” Elëira yelped, grabbing it and jerking forward, sending water splashing across the floor. “You can’t cut this. You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It has meaning. So you can’t cut it.” She stroked the bottom possessively.

“Alright, we won’t cut it. But may I at least re-braid it after we make the rest of your hair look decent?”

“…Fine. But it has to remain three-stranded.” She leaned back again, closing her eyes. “Three strands for three losses…”

“I cannot imagine your pain.” Cail approached with a small pair of scissors, and began trimming the rest of her hair. “We have not experienced something such as that.”

“I am afraid that I have experienced too much.” Elëira sighed, untangling the long hairs. “And at some point, I myself shall join the lost.”

The sisters met each other’s gaze, slightly confused. “No, you would not… Beyond the sea is a land undying, where you would remain ever-green, and forget about your pains.”

“Then it seems that we have very different expectations.” She shook her head a bit, then sputtered as they poured a basin of warm water over her to rinse off the remains of the dirt. Now clean and soft again, Elëira rose from the tub and used a linen towel to dry her body. The sisters then lead her to an attached dressing chamber, where a dress had been prepared for her. The velvet fabric was a deep blue, and silver thread wound about the scooped neck and hem, stars embroidered into the garment. Around the waist was a belt of silver filigree, highlighting the curves of her body. She was given soft slippers to wear upon her feet, and a silver circlet was settled upon her brow. Cail carefully replaced her singular plait, cinching it at the bottom with a silver bead which matched her belt.

“You are now a sight fit for any lord to see!” The maidens laughed merrily, voices ringing high and clear about the room as Elëira examined herself in a mirror. “Allow your companions to gaze upon you. Relish in it, for they certainly will. And…perhaps they will think twice about ignoring you next time, eh?” They smiled devilishly, before turning towards the door. “We’ll allow you a moment, and lead you to the banquet.”

“It has been far too long since I felt warm, admiring eyes upon me…” She mused to herself, staring at her reflection. She practically felt as though she were a different person. The layer of dirt that had once clung to her skin was more like another layer of clothing, something that kept her grounded and connected to the earth. With that scrubbed away, she felt more naked than she had in the tub. “I’ll just have to see what they think.” With one last cursory glance at the mirror, she exited the chamber, and followed Aphadrien and Cail to the balcony upon which the feast was set.

* * *

Upon her arrival, Bofur was the first to lay his eyes upon the elven lass, and his mouth dropped wide open in surprise. “Get a load of that, lads!” He announced, directing the gaze of the rest of the company at her. Elëira blushed now, pink spreading across her whole face. She twirled a little to show off her gown, light glancing off the metallic accents on the garment. One of the dwarves gave her a whistle of approval, causing her face to become redder in color as she darted towards the only available seat. She carefully lowered herself into her chair, being situated up upon a dais with Lord Elrond, Gandalf, Thorin, Balin, and Bilbo. She was at the end of the long table, next to the hobbit. Seated in such a prominent position, there was no way for her to avoid the glances being sent her way, much less a few pointed stares from the two princes.

“Ah, Elëira, my lass, glad to see that you could join us at last.” Gandalf smiled in her direction.

“I hope that your stay so far has been to your liking.” Lord Elrond addressed her. “You shall be accounted every privilege befitting a lady while here.”

“Thank you, my lord, everything is wonderful.” The blonde bowed to the brunet, bowing in the fashion of her home, with her fingers intertwined and knuckles pressing against her chest. “It is good to be among familiar customs.” Elrond nodded, and then began to converse with the wizard seated beside him. They started discussing historical swords, so the maiden took the opportunity to indulge in the feast set before her. Her plate was rich with deep green vegetables and juicy mushrooms, which she speared upon her fork and introduced to her eager mouth. The taste was heavenly, and she could not help herself but smile in a dreamy state as she continued.

Meanwhile, the dwarves seated in the middle of the patio still had reeling minds at the approach of such sudden, ethereal beauty. A quick consensus found that none of them had ever considered an elf to be attractive before, much less one like Elëira.

“She’s a right proper lady. What’s she doing with a bunch like us?” Ori wondered aloud, looking back and forth between the maiden seated at the high table and his brethren.

“She’s got to be here because she fancies one of us.” Kili caught her eye and gave her a wink, breaking into a luscious grin when her face became flushed again. “After all, why else would an elf want to stay here with us?”

“She certainly wouldn’t fancy you, brother.” The golden-haired dwarf cuffed his brother on the shoulder, and received a bread roll to the face in retaliation. “Oi!”

“Isn’t it obvious, then? We’ll have to woo it out of her.” Bofur set his hat more firmly down on his head. “Every dwarf for himself, of course. We’ll set her seeing stars, and we’ll only stop once she decides who she fancies best.”

Dwalin rolled his eyes at the whole notion. “You can’t be serious. That’s low. Elf or not, you shouldn’t pretend to court a lady when you don’t mean it.”

“Oh, I’m serious as anything! And don’t pretend that you haven’t been gazing at her this whole time. There’s no way you couldn’t.”

“Thorin will have my hide for this…” Dwalin threw his hands up in frustration. “Fine! Do whatever you like, as long as you don’t do anything too stupid. She’s not under contract, mind you, so there’s nothing binding her to stick around and keep dealing with your ugly mugs all leering at her. So don’t do anything stupid!”

“Stupid? Perish the thought! All I want to do is make sure that one of us gets to win over the lass.” Bofur smiled slyly, brown eyes twinkling. “So, there’s only one thing for it!” He suddenly popped up from his seat and leapt up on top of the table. He inhaled deeply, and began to sing out an old tavern song.

_“Oh, there once was a lass, as fair as the summer, who shone like the sun at noon._

_Aye, she was bonny, she shimmered with splendor, her eyes were just like the moon._

_And this maiden of maidens, she loved and adored me, and said she’d always be mine._

_I loved her too, yes that fact is true, love my beautiful maid so fine!”_

The entire company had gotten into the song and sang along with him, stamping their feet to the rhythm and pelting him with the vegetables they disliked. He bowed dramatically, unable to stop himself from laughing as Dori seized him by the coattails and yanked him down from his makeshift stage. He landed on his back on the floor with a thud and gazed up at the group seated on the dais. Lord Elrond was certainly flummoxed by the situation, and if looks could kill, the glare that Thorin was sending him would have left him dead on the spot. Gandalf and Bilbo could not hide their grins at the merrymaking, but instead of lingering on them he turned his gaze to the elven maiden who was seated at the end of the table. To his surprise, Elëira was letting out great bawls of laughter at his antics, her eyes squeezed shut and one hand clutching at her chest. He got back to his feet and bowed once again, but not before sending a cheeky wink right at her. 

* * *

 

When dinner was finished, each group retired to their respective chambers. The dwarves were all lounging in their underclothes, sharing wine and using bits of the wooden furniture as kindling for their cooking fire. No feast was complete without any sort of meat! Laughter and merriment abounded, but it was shallow compared to how they normally reveled in each other’s company. Thorin and Balin had practically disappeared after the plates were cleared, scampering off with the wizard and elf-lord, leaving the rest of the company to make their own amusement.

Each of the bachelor dwarves, young enough to consider courting, all had their minds upon one thing. They were in agreement that Elëira was gorgeous in her borrowed gown, beautiful enough that she could make for a fine subject of a painting or statue.

Something else they were surely wondering about was what she may have looked like without that gown on. That thought pervaded their minds and caused some uncharacteristic silence, which certainly did not go unnoticed. Soon, the silence gave way to teasing, and then the night was filled once again with raucous laughter.

Elëira, meanwhile, was sitting in her chamber, alone. After spending a night close together with the company, after so many nights by her lonesome, she found herself missing the sense of familiarity brought by a pack of dwarves all moving towards the same goal. She knew that she would not easily be able to sleep that night, so she drew herself towards the kitchen. She figured that a few goblets of proper elven wine would help her get some rest, seeing as how it was certainly more powerful than anything men could brew.

Once she arrived at the wine cellar, she was surprised to find that she was not the only one wishing to sample the wine that night. Seated at a small table was none other than Thorin, who had already gotten through a whole bottle on his own.

“May I join you?” Elëira asked softly, so as not to startle him. She retrieved a goblet for herself, along with selecting a good-looking bottle of white, summer wine.

“If you must.” The King under the Mountain grumbled, obviously not thrilled with having a guest. She sat down across from him, carefully drawing her long sleeves out of the way. She pulled the cork from the bottle, allowed the wine to breathe, and then poured it, first into the goblet clutched within the king’s fist. “You are causing this company trouble.” He took a long draw upon the wine. “They are losing focus on their goal. They look at you instead.”

“That is hardly something that I can control.” She replied, regarding him with a raised eyebrow. She matched his drink, and then went further. “And I shan’t apologize for the way I look.”

“You should apologize for being a burden to us! Elvenkind has never been helpful to my people or my cause before, so why should you?” It was obvious that the king was already deep into his cups.

“I am not a part of your company, and I owe no allegiance to you, Thorin.” Elëira poured herself another goblet. “I am here because I wish to follow Master Baggins, and to see this dragon, Smaug, with my own eyes. I do not expect a cut of your treasure nor a place in your halls. I do as I please, and right now, this is what I want to do.” The wine in her cup disappeared down her throat.

“Are you so blind as to not realize your own influence? You are an elven maid, who insists upon showing them all kindness! And then,” he gestured to her in a broad motion, “you appear at dinner dressed like _this!”_

“There is nothing wrong with the way I dress, Thorin Oakenshield.” She gave up on portions, instead raising the bottle of wine to her lips and taking a draught straight from it.

“You are a liability!” He leaned forward and wrenched the bottle from her grasp, bracing one arm on the table as he drank deeply. “The way that you move…when you walk by, they stare. Whenever you sing, they halt immediately and are held captive! If this is some elven magic, then I would command you cease at once.”

“They are men, and I am a woman. They can stare all they like; I do not mind it.” She leaned forward too, defiantly having the last of the wine. Without breaking his stare, she rocked backwards in her seat to pull another bottle from the rack, wrapping her fingers around the cork and removing it with one ferocious tug. She dropped it and began to drink once again, just to make Thorin squirm. Her eyes narrowed with pleasure as he did, sputtering and reaching out for the deep green bottle.

“You need to show some dignity, lest they think lesser of you.” He succeeded in getting his hand around the neck of the bottle, pulling it to him despite the elf not letting go. She moved forwards with it, leaning her elbows on the table, and glaring at the dwarf from her close perspective. “I will not have some beautiful woman prancing about my company just to cause trouble!”

Elëira suddenly let out a laugh, mind beginning to feel fuzzy from so much alcohol in so short a time. Now _this_ was wine! She put two and two together, though it may not have been the correct answer she arrived at. “You are jealous!” She announced. “You do not want the others to lay eyes upon me because you think that you should be alone in that right.”

Thorin leaned closer, enough that their noses were almost touching. “And so what if I am?” His voice dropped to a gruff whisper. “So what if I don’t want anyone else to see you in gowns like this, much less anything else?”

“Then I would be flattered that you enjoy me so much.” She grinned at him. “Though I am not so easily won over by possessiveness.”

“Then tell me…what would it take for me to have one such as you all to myself?”

“I am not a prize to be won, and even if I was, I would not be easy to claim.” She lowers her gaze and batted her eyelashes at him. “I would have you earn me through hard work.”

“Come here.” He tugged suddenly on the wine bottle, catching Elëira off balance and pulling her further forward so that their foreheads were pressed together. “And what if…I did this?” His lips were suddenly upon hers, somehow both soft and rough at the same time. He inhaled slowly, taking in the scent of flowers and wine upon her skin. Her grip slipped from the bottle and instead landed on his forearm, hand curling around his bracer. Her eyes were closed, allowing her to simply savor the moment, and enjoy the feeling of rough beard against her skin.

All too soon, he had pulled back, a flush now spreading across his face. Elëira was blushing too, eyes hazed over. “How was that for earning you?”

Taking his distraction into account, the elf quickly slipped the bottle of wine from the dwarf’s grasp. “It was certainly a start.” She smiled coquettishly at him, before rising from her seat. “Good night, Thorin.” She swept into a bow, smile becoming a smirk, as she knew that his eyes would lay upon the swath of creamy skin exposed by her collar. And with that, she was off, wine and all.

* * *

She marched her way up to a balcony, wine bottle clutched in one hand, skirts bundled up in the other to prevent her from tripping over herself. With a huff, she sat down upon a bench overlooking a fountain, watching how the water flowed down three tiers. She grumbled to herself, running her thumb in circles around the lip of the bottle.

“Do mine eyes deceive me, or has someone left a fine lady by her lonesome on such a night?” Elëira looked up to see Kili sauntering towards her, his own cheeks rosy from wine.

“Evenin’,” She mumbles, patting the stone next to her. “Anybody ever tell you that your uncle is a right piece of work?”

He slid down next to her, balance slightly off. “Aye? Try living with him.”

She hissed a little in sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

“He’s not all bad, really. He’s just…very focused on getting back to Erebor. He was there when it was lost, and he wants to be the one to reclaim it.”

The elf took a deep sip of her wine. “Oh, he’s focused all right! He’s focused on you lot focusing on me!”

Kili sputtered. “Wait, what did he say?”

“So, so, he thinks that I’m purposefully trying to distract the others, just because I’m a woman!” She hiccups. “He’s worried that because of my appearance and because that I am actually _kind_ to all of you, that I’m some sort of—some sort of liability!” She frowns, nose crinkling in displeasure.

“That is—he’s jealous, isn’t he?” Kili knew his uncle well enough to tell when he was hiding his true feelings.

“That’s what I told him!” She laughed, having another drink and giving the young dwarf the bottle. “And—and, this isn’t the best part of what he did.”

“Do tell, my lady!”

“We were both having some drinks, and passing the bottle back and forth. Once I realized he was jealous, I of course asked him what he would do about it.” She chuckled, smirking devilishly. “And just guess what he did.”

“Something worthy of being used against him, I’d assume.” He chuckled, helping himself to more of the wine.

Elëira took on an innocent, scared expression, placing her fingers upon her lips. “H-He took the sanctity of a maiden’s first kiss!”

Kili nearly spat out his mouthful of wine. He swallowed harshly and coughed, trying to clear his throat. “Y-Y-You—he did?!”

She burst out laughing at the look on his face. “No, of course not! I ceased to be an innocent maiden when I was around…oh goddess, when was it…? Ah, I was around my two-hundredth year, that handsome Longstride fellow… It’s not important.” She chuckles, waving her hand before her face. “What is important is that I believe your uncle has a few repressed issues to work through.”

“I’ll drink to that.” He nods, taking a long drink before giving her the bottle, watching as she finished off the wine. “We should get another one of those, and keep talking.”

“Aye!” She stands up, only now beginning to become tipsy. Her dwarven drinking companion was far more affected than she, and he wrapped his arm tightly around her waist in order to keep from falling. “Steady there, youngling.” She laughs, putting her arm around his shoulders. Together, they made their way back down to the wine cellar, and were surprised to find that Thorin was still sitting at the small table. “Oh dear, it appears that this cellar is occupied. Whatever shall we do?”

“We’ll just have to take some of these up to the lads!” Kili unwound his arm from Elëira, grabbing two more bottles from the shelves.

“I second the notion.” The elf agreed, taking four bottles into her grasp. “It’s about time that I got to bond with you fellows.”

“Mahal, give me strength.” A sudden grumble rose from the dwarven king who up until then had been hunched over the table. “Have you forgotten already about our discussion?”

“How in the world could I have forgotten? I may be elf-kind, but I’m no fool.” She breathes deeply. “And how in the world could someone forget a king trying to claim them with a single kiss?”

“You said that it was a start!”

“I never specified what it was a start towards.” One corner of her mouth twitches upwards. “And I think that you perhaps need to be done drinking for the night.”

“You know nothing of me, _girl.”_ He huffed.

“Thorin, I am at least thrice your age. I can tell when someone’s hit their limit.” Elëira put three of the bottles back, keeping only one. “Come on, Kili. I believe your uncle could use some rest.” Despite the king’s grumbling and complaining, the elf and the young dwarf got him into his chambers, pulled his boots off his feet, and laid him out on his bed. His tiredness was beginning to rub off on the others, and the elf maid suggested that the two of them retire to her quarters to spend some quiet time just talking. And, of course, sharing another bottle of wine. 

* * *

 

Back in her room, Elëira had grown tired of wearing the beautiful, yet cumbersome gown that Aphadrien and Cail had lent her. She slowly began to pull off the adornments, but soon found herself struggling to remove the overdress itself. It buttoned all the way down the back, and despite her reach and flexibility, she simply could not reach. It was especially difficult now, considering how much wine she had consumed within the course of the night.

“Kili, could you be a dear and assist me with these buttons?” She batted her eyelashes at him, arms contorted as she tried to unfasten them herself.

“For the one brave enough to let my uncle kiss her and then tease him about it? I’d do anything.” The young dwarf chuckled to himself, stepping close to her and beginning to unbutton her gown.

“I still don’t understand what he was so upset about. Surely, my looks alone cannot be _that_ distracting… Can they?” She mused, tucking her braid behind her ear.

“If you ask me, he had a bit of a point.” He breathed in deeply, just taking in the scent of her body. He could still smell the flowery perfume from her earlier bath, but now that was mixed with the scents of wine and her own personal warmth. “Standing this close to you…slowly removing your gown… It’s enough to drive any man wild.” He could see a sliver of her skin now, the tops of her shoulder blades left uncovered by her underclothes.

“Am I driving you wild, young prince?” She turns just enough to gaze over her shoulder and meet his eyes. It was her turn to cause someone else to blush now, and it brought her pleasure to see redness beginning to creep over Kili’s face.

“I certainly would be tempted by you…” He struggled to control himself as he continued unfastening button after button. He was halfway down her back now.

“You can be honest with me, I will not judge.” Her hands slip down to rest on her hips.

He swallowed hard past a lump in his throat. He focused on the buttons, and soon he had a view of her entire back, including the curve that was her rear. “I…”

Sensing his difficulty speaking, the elf maid took this chance to shrug the gown off her body and step free of its confines. She wore a soft cotton shift beneath it, and it hung loose upon her frame. “Ah, freedom… Thank you, dear one.” Her wine-addled mind was becoming fuzzier and fuzzier. “Perhaps I should reward you for services rendered, how does that sound?”

“R-Reward?” Kili stammered, heart beginning to pound within his chest. His eyes were fixed upon Elëira as she bent forward in order to retrieve her gown, laying it out across a chair to prevent it from wrinkling. Her shift covered her completely, but only just. He did not need to imagine much about her body. “Wh-what do you have in mind?”

“Oh, just a little something…” She gazes at him with lidded eyes, stepping close enough that the young prince could almost feel the heat that her body made. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, pulse racing as the elf came closer and closer to him. A spark ran through his brain when she very softly pressed her lips against his cheek, lingering just long enough for him to really start feeling it. “I believe that my debt is now paid.” She whispered into his ear before pulling back, crossing the room to sit on the edge of her bed. “Care to take a seat?”

Heat seared through Kili’s body, and he could practically feel steam rising from his skin. “If I joined you in that bed, I doubt that I would ever let you leave it.” He admitted, unwilling to tear his eyes from the view of her body.

“Then, perhaps, it would be best if we were to retire for the night.” She drew her feet up, stretching herself out lengthwise. “Goodnight, my prince.”

“I’ll only leave you if I may have a goodnight kiss.” He announced to her. Anything would help to soothe his nerves.

“Well, come here and receive one.” She chuckled, beckoning him closer with a finger. Kili practically rushed forward and nearly allowed his lips to crash onto hers. Elëira remained careful, not allowing the kiss to escalate any further. She wanted any new steps in their relationship to be taken the right way, not because three bottles of wine were involved. She kissed him back for only a short while before pulling away, allowing blue eyes to meet brown. “Now that you have had your kiss, I must bid you farewell.”

“Farewell, my fair lady.” His calloused hand grabbed hers, and he pulled it to his lips for a final kiss. “May your dreams be sweet.”

“And may yours be too.”

With that, the prince left the elven maiden to her slumber. He knew for sure that he wouldn’t be getting much that night, nor many nights after.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh, enter the shipping! Shall it lead anywhere? Who knows!!! Anyhoo, thanks again for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

When morning arrived, few of the company awoke without sore, pounding heads. Thorin felt it hardest of all, with a great heave passing up from his stomach as he rolled over and got a face full of sunlight. He internally cursed the man who first came up with the idea of drinking the juice of fermented fruit. He groaned in discomfort as he squinted his eyes shut and groped blindly around for his pack, thinking that something to eat would help the hangover. When he couldn’t find anything, he opened his eyes again and decided to try and get up. As he started wiggling towards the edge of the bed, he realized that he was still wearing his armor, and that his boots had been yanked off and haphazardly tossed to the side. He couldn’t remember much of what had happened the night before, except he knew he wasn’t the one who got himself into his bed.

“What happened…?” He mumbled to himself, kicking his feet over the side and sitting up. His head was swimming, and another dry heave roiled through him, making him clap his hand over his mouth and groan in discomfort. “Damn elves…” He took a few more minutes and then forced himself up, and slowly started pulling his boots back on. He was starving, and needed to get something to eat. He recalled that he had been past a kitchen when first welcomed to Rivendell, and decided to start working his way over there.

When he reached the kitchen, a series of familiar voices caught his ears. He peeked into the adjoining room and saw the rest of his company sitting around a low table, munching away on a series of breads and cheeses. Fili was the first to look up and spot him, and flashed him a sly smile. “Good morning, uncle. Did you rest well?” The blonde prince asked, and the King under the Mountain merely grumbled and sat down hard, grabbing the closest slice of bread and stuffing it into his mouth. Kili couldn’t help but start to chuckle under his breath, having never seen his uncle in such a state. It was nice to see that he wasn’t quite as infallible as he tried to appear.

“Elven drink is the work of demons.” Thorin muttered through his breakfast, now grabbing at a slice of soft cheese.

“Well, I wouldn’t blame you for going to it.” Balin stroked his beard. “Not after that news you got last night.”

“What news, uncle?” Fili sat up straighter. “You had the map translated, right?”

Thorin closed his eyes before he spoke. “We must reach the mountain before the start of winter. ‘The last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the keyhole’, and that’s where we get inside Erebor.”

“That’s so close…” Balin stroked his beard even faster now, thinking about dates in his head. “Summer is nearly over now. What are we going to do?”

“We rest just long enough to replenish our supplies. We leave within two nights.” The king under the mountain turned his full attention now to the food before him, decidedly grabbing at a crisp apple. “And leave the elf here.”

Kili frowned at his uncle. “You can’t mean that.”

“I can, and I do. She’ll be happier here with her kin.” He sank his teeth into the fruit. “My decision is final.”

The raven-haired prince stood up, a scowl crossing his face. “Right.” He turned and exited the dining room, heading off with a determined pace. 

* * *

 

Kili headed straight for Elëira’s room and barged inside, not even bothering to knock. The elf-maid looked up in shock from her seat in front of a mirror, her singular braid undone and loose. “My uncle intends to leave you here. He’s moving on within two nights.”

“Well, he has some nerve.” Elëira frowned at her reflection, and at that of the young prince. “And after all we’ve been through together…” She put her hands down. “Here I was, wondering if he might actually be getting to tolerate me.”

“My uncle has a hard time tolerating anyone who isn’t kin, don’t take it too personally.” He approached her, examining the silver hair bead placed upon her table. “How are you going to do up your hair?”

She ran her fingers through the long sections. “Normally, I just separate it into three pieces and sort of just twist it around. It falls out and gets messy within the day, however.”

“That’s because you’ve never had a dwarf braid your hair before.” He cracked a bit of a smile now. “They are so important to our culture that if they’ve fallen out, it’s shameful.”

“Then would you do it?” She picked up the bead and rolled it between her fingers, looking at the design. It reminded her of coiling vines. “My braid is important to me as well… Each strand represents someone important we’ve lost.” She pulled one piece between her fingers. “My professor.” Another strand. “A lover.” The third strand. “And a human, almost like a sister to me. All of them dead and gone.” She sighed. “As someone so long-lived, the idea of death is one I wish could be mere fantasy.”

Kili stepped close behind her and placed his hand over hers, slipping the sections of golden hair from her fingers. “In dwarven culture, our braids are symbols of our family history. Each line has their own style, their own adornments.” He began to twist the locks together, arranging them one over the other until they resembled the tail of a fish. “Dwarrowdams in courting wear the most elaborate, they soar over their heads like wings of a bird.” He finished the braid and fastened it with the silver bead. “Just the act of having your hair braided by someone else is an intimate act…”

Elëira’s face now flushed pink. “O-oh, really?” She sat up straighter on her stool, hands instinctively rubbing down the length of her plait. “I-I don’t want to, I don’t want to give a—a false impression, of my feelings…”

The young dwarf broke out into laughter. “Ah, you have morning-after regrets!” Elëira went redder and covered her face, squirming in her distress. “I’m only joking with you, love. We both imbibed deeply and said some… _interesting_ things. I don’t think either of us meant anything by it.” The elf-maid peeked at him from between her fingers now, a smile starting to creep back across her face. “Besides, you’re stunning, you know you’re stunning, but honestly, you’re not exactly my type.” The prince rubbed his chin. “If you grew a beard, on the other hand…”

“You charmer, stop it!” Elëira laughed, playfully waving her hand at him. “Anyways…if I may, I would like to ask another favor of you.” She now folded her hands in her lap. “I want to know the truth, the entire truth, about what happened to your people, and why we’re on this whole mission, er, quest thing.”

Kili crossed his arms, pondering in thought for a little bit. “For that one, you’re going to have to talk to some of the older members. Try Balin.”

“Right, then. I’m off.” She stood and gave her friend a warm smile before she departed, soft boots barely rustling against the stone floors. 

* * *

 Elëira found Balin right where Kili had expected him to be, staring at a series of maps stretched out upon the largest table in the communal library. “Excuse me…” She said quietly as she approached, coming to a halt across from him. “Might I ask you some things?”

The crimson-robed dwarf looked up, a pair of jeweler’s spectacles perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t hear you come in, lass. Must have been lost in thought.” He took off his eyewear and rubbed his forehead. “What is it that you’d like to know?”

“Now that I’ve travelled a while with you lot, it’s obvious that I haven’t any idea of what exactly I’ve gotten myself into.” She drew a seat up to the table, peering at the parchments. “I want to know the truth, the _entire_ truth, of what happened at that mountain sixty years ago.”

He sighed at her request. “For the whole truth, you’ll have to go far more than just sixty years back. Once I get started, I’m not going to want to stop, so are you sure you’re ready?”

“I’ve attended a university. I’m good at listening.” She smiled encouragingly at him, and with a wry grin, he began his tale. 

* * *

The elf and the dwarf sat together in the library until the next morning, both completely lost in the storytelling. By the end of it, their little corner of the library had transformed into an exhibition, with books opened and propped up on their shelves and fresh parchments scattered about, littered with notes and important materials. Balin had even found a massive map of Middle-Earth framed and hung up, and together the two of them had managed to get it down and dragged it over to their study. It was here that Aphadrien and Cail found them, momentarily stunned at the chaos the odd pairing had wrought.

Elëira had tracks from tears stretching across her face, amazed at some of the things that she had heard. She rubbed the back of her wrist against her eyes, trying to clear away the blur from emotion. “H-How long have we been in here?”

“The sun is rising.” Aphadrien started closing books and tucking them back onto the shelves.

Balin yawned, covering his mouth with his hand. “Thorin plans to leave soon. We ought to prepare.”

“We’ll go through the mountains, right?” The blonde peered at the map, tracing a path from Rivendell to the Lonely Mountain with her finger. “We’ll need rations, protective clothing, medicinal equipment…”

“Just…go worry about yourself, lass. You’ll be no use to us unprepared.” Balin shuffled his papers together and bundled them up into his arms before stumbling from the library, obviously seeking some sleep before setting out.

Elëira returned to her room and looked through her pack, carefully examining everything she had brought. Her whetstone, her pouch of seeds, a notebook of interesting tidbits of information…damn, she had forgotten a cloak. She would have to get one before they departed.

Her hand brushed against one other item, something she had almost ignored. It was a stone from the seaside, weathered smooth by years of pounding waves. On its backside was an incantation carved in human runes, wishing safety to sailors on their voyages. She pulled it out and rubbed her fingers over it, remembering when she had first received it.

“Oh, Jerric…” she sighed, now clenching the stone in her hand. “You would love this land.” The stone got tossed back into her pack. “But you’re dead now, so that’s that. And I know what you’d be telling me right now, ‘Go get a cloak so you don’t freeze to death, you fool.’” She mimicked his deep voice, smiling to herself. “I bet you’re up in that fabled mead hall you kept telling me about, laughing at what I’ve gotten myself into. Damn you, Nord boy.” With a shake of her head, she got up to go find herself that cloak. 

Aphadrien and Cail agreed to give her one before she left, in exchange for a song at that night’s dinner. Elëira hesitantly agreed, under the caveat that she could pick the song and have a harpist play the melody for her. That night, as she stood upon the musician’s dais singing a blessing upon Rivendell’s crops and trees, she noticed that Thorin was staring at her with peculiar intensity. She had not seen him since their encounter the night before last, and she was most perturbed by his expression. He was glowering at her with such intensity that she was surprised she didn’t burst into flame on the spot. Her singing voice stuttered for a moment when his eyes met hers, making her glad that no one else in attendance knew her tongue. When the song finished, she bowed to her audience and ran from the room, seizing a plate of dinner on her way. Once back in her chambers, she sat and munched on a leaf of spinach almost like she was a caterpillar. She moped for a while, but her brooding time was interrupted by the arrival of Cail and Aphadrien.

They bore between them a hooded cloak for her, of emerald green wool with an embroidered design of golden leaves. “Please take this and think of us fondly during your travels. Before winter arrives, we are going to journey to the Undying Lands, across the sea to the west.” Said Cail in sorrow. “We have seen much, and almost none of it was good.”

“Aye.” Aphadrien nodded. “Though the darkness was defeated hundreds of years ago, we still fear its effects.”

Elëira blinked quickly to clear the emotion from her face. “Ladies, you have done much for me in this short time. How may I repay your kindness?”

“My dear, we depart for the land of eternity, where we will want for nothing. By continuing here, and keeping our memory in this country, we shall endure. By paying our kindness forward, we will never truly be gone.”

Elëira bowed to the sisters as they left. “Thank you, Aphadrien and Cail. I will not forget your kindness.” She wrapped her new cloak around her shoulders, delighted at how comfortable it was. It fastened beneath her neck with a simple brooch wrought from iron, in the shape of a maple leaf. She snuggled herself in it and then laid down in her bed, to catch up on lost sleep. 

* * *

 Elëira arrived at the eastern gates before dawn, and impatiently tapped her foot while she waited for the rest of the company. The first dwarf to arrive was Thorin, who looked almost disappointed. “Oh…you’re here.”

“It will take far more than scheming to be rid of me, Thorin Oakenshield.” The elf pulled herself up to her full height, pointedly staring him down. “I’ll only leave if I want to leave, and you know that, so stop being such a stubborn horse.”

“…It’s ass. Stubborn ass.”

“That is what I said! If I had called you an _aenbrach_ , you would have just been confused!”

“You should either learn to speak appropriately in the common tongue or not speak at all, elf.”

A frown now crossed Elëira’s face. “Perhaps your common tongue should not be so stupid.” 

“And since you obviously know no Khuzdul, you have no right to lecture me.”

“Though, you perhaps could use a lecture on manners.”

Thorin now swore at her in his tongue, and she responded with an insult in hers. From there, the arguing intensified until they were nearly shouting at each other, only stopping when the rest of the company arrived. At their approach, the two turned away from each other in a huff, refusing to meet the other’s eyes.

“Do mine eyes deceive me, or have we interrupted a lover’s quarrel?” Kili announced loudly, with a smirk that only grew wider as the odd pairing started sputtering in distress.

“I would rather feed myself to a dragon than court _her!”_ Thorin growled, hand wrapping tightly around Orcrist’s hilt. “Stop your nonsense at once; we’re moving out. Balin, you know the way best, you lead.” He began striding away as fast as his legs could carry him. Elëira kept to the back, only starting once he was too far to hear her.

“So, someone thinks that he’s funny.” She clamped her hand down on Kili’s shoulder.

“It was a joke, Elëira, I swear!” He squirmed under her rip. “Who else than people secretly attracted to each other get into such a shouting match?”

The elf scoffed, letting him go. “Easy: two people who apparently can’t stand each other. And all I did was call him a stubborn horse.”

“You…do realize the term is stubborn donkey, right?”

“Donkey? Ass? Horse? Ay! You are confusing me!” She threw her hands up in frustration.

“Well, despite all that, it may be a good thing that you don’t understand Khuzdul. You _really_ don’t want to know some of the things he was saying about you.” Kili scratched the back of his head. “And Mahal only knows what you were saying about him.”

“All I did was tell him how he smells like various types of dung, and that he’s stubborn and rude.” She wrinkled her nose.

He blinked owlishly at her. “Oh, that’s…surprisingly tame. Do you want me to translate for him?”

“…Yes.”

“Alright, but know that these are his words, not mine.” The black-haired dwarf cleared his throat before continuing. “From what I caught, he thinks that you’re a stuck-up, useless waif who is nothing more than an annoyance. He, uh…also called you some other nasty names. ‘Knife-eared bitch’ is the only one I’d actually care to repeat.”

Her brow furrowed. “Is that so?” She crossed her arms and drummed her fingers against her forearms. “Would I be within my rights to slap him, or should I just not even mention it?”

"Listen...I don't want to tell you how to live your life or anything, but you know already that he doesn't like you. Calling him out on his poor attitude would just be an invitation to wake up to a dagger."

"You really think he'd do that?" Her mouth almost dropped open in shock. "Just try to kill me like that?"

"What?! No! At least...not openly." Kili sighed. "Alright, don't listen to that one, it was stupid. Just...just indulge him sometimes, alright? He's been through the wringer more times than any of us can count, and it's not really fair to antagonize him."

"So, you're saying I can't hold him to the standards of any other person? I can't expect someone who I'm going to have to spend exuberant amounts of time with not to openly and callously curse my existence to my very face?"

"That's not what I meant and you know it." He looked at her with another frown. "Just...please. Be kind."

With a heavy sigh, the elf relented. "I suppose I don't really have a choice, do I? Alright, you win. I'll try to be better with him."

"Thank you, Eleira. Things will get better, I promise."

Thorin turned around from his position at the front of the company. "Oi, you two! Keep up."

"Right!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, about Eleira's language! Basically, nouns are made up of a series of short prefixes that mean specific things, followed by a suffix that adds a descriptor. Take aenbrach, for example. In her tongue, "aen" is the prefix for "hoofed animal", and "brach" is the descriptor that mimics the bray of a donkey. So, literally translated, aenbrach means "hoofed-animal-brays". Gotta love making languages :)
> 
> Anyways, I'm going to split this chapter into two parts so as to not drown anyone in massive walls of text. The next chapter will be some proper adventuring shenanigans, leading up to Goblin town. I have a lot of fun stuff planned, so thank you for sticking with me!


	5. Chapter 5

By nightfall, the company had reached a curious location halfway between Rivendell and the foot of the Misty Mountains. It seemed to be the ruins of an ancient township, but no one could put their finger on exactly who had previously lived there.

“How curious…” Ori already had his sketchbook out, furiously scribbling the landscape with a charcoal stick. “Who do you think used to live here?”

“It’s probably elven, just look at how nicely the stone is carved.” Gloín poked at a crumbling column with the end of his axe, scowling. Not as nicely as we can do it, but seeing as how it’s held up this long…”

“I’m not sure it’s elven. It may have been made by men.” Bilbo replied, eyes glancing around. “I’ve read that the men of Numenor made little outlets like this all along the mountains, in case trouble came through.”

“So, they either got destroyed, or there wasn’t enough trouble to merit sticking around.” Bofur dropped his pack on the ground next to where Oín had started pulling stones together to form a fire pit. “Come on, let’s go explore. There may be something useful around here.” Nori immediately leapt up to join him, but no one else looked particularly eager.

Elëira was distracted by something written on a fragment of wall and didn’t even know anyone had been speaking. “How strange…” She muttered to herself, only snapping out of her reverie when someone linked elbows with her. She almost jumped, making Bofur laugh.

“Lass, let’s go see what’s around here! You’re a scholar, are you not?”

“A scholar—yes! Yes, I am! Sure, I’ll come with you.” She became cheery at the positive attention. The pair headed off with linked arms, Nori trailing just a foot behind them.

* * *

 

“So, lass, I feel like we’re still strangers.” He looked up at her. “Tell me, how did an elven maid like yourself end up living in a tree in the middle of the wilderness, in a land you’re not from?”

“That, master dwarf, is quite a long story.” Elëira chuckled. “I was born in a land _very_ far away, called Ibetea. My people have a name I doubt you could pronounce, so we’ll call them wood elves.”

“I don’t know, I would say I’ve got a bit of a talent of tongue.” The dwarf winked at her, making her blush and laugh. “Try me.”

The elf obliged, and made a long noise that mimicked the sound of wind rustling through leaves, punctuated by clicks of her tongue like creaking wood. Bofur tried to mimic it and absolutely butchered it, hissing much more like a snake than the wind. When Nori tried, he sounded like an angered cat, and they all shared a laugh at the odd attempt.

“And this is why people tend to call us wood elves. That, and we live in the forests, in homes that we sing forth from the trees.” She touched the tattoo on her left cheek, running her fingers along it. It was a depiction of a vine of ivy, the green ink curling at her chin and climbing up to her temple with small leaves sprouting from its tendrils. “This mark means that I’m particularly skilled at wood-singing. Any of my people could start humming at a plant and make it stop wilting, but it takes _real_ skill to do things like I can. I made that copse of trees you met me in.”

“You’re kidding.” Nori exclaimed in disbelief. “You made all of those trees grow in those weird shapes?”

“Every single one.” The elf nodded, thought for a moment, and then slowed her pace. “Three years ago, back in my home, a human who I loved very dearly died. In my grief, I sang myself a ship, from the trunk of a tree, and sailed away to whatever lay ahead.” She came to a stop, looking to the sky. “I landed on the shore of this place, Middle-Earth, and started walking. When I found some trees I liked, I sang to them until they formed a home for me. And there I stayed, until the day I saved your hides.” She chuckled.

“Bofur called you a scholar, and I know you got a dwarven history lesson from Balin the other night.” Nori picked up a particularly shiny rock, looked it over, then tossed it away in disappointment. “What else do you know?”

Elëira gave them a secretive smile. “Believe it or not, I’m actually a user of magic. I can summon—well, I wouldn’t exactly call them _spirits,_ exactly, they’re more like…” She shook her head, trying to get the correct words out. “Basically, through an incantation and a gift of magical and physical energy, I can bring forth creatures from a different plane of existence. I give them form in our world, we strike an arrangement, and then from that point on they do what I ask when I summon them.”

The two dwarves gaped at her with open mouths. “What?! Show us!”

She glanced around before unlooping her arm from Bofur’s. “You two are going to take me for a liar, but…I can’t. Not now.”

Nori blinked at her. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“Something about this land is…different. There isn’t enough magic energy here.” She drifted away from them to run her fingers over some carved stone. “Back at home, magic is a part of everyday life. There is so much of it, in everything, that using my powers is as simple as breathing. But here? Magic is almost completely absent.”

“You said completely, not entirely. Is there a chance?”

“Well, I could _try…”_

“Try it, lass. Just do something simple.”

“Alright, but you’re going to be disappointed…” Elëira cleared her throat, spreading her arms wide, with palms facing upwards. _“Hear me call from realms far, and accept my gifts from within. Take form, Tyto, and heed my words!”_ She chanted, feeling her energy surge. Purple light began to crackle in her hands but fizzled out after a moment, sending her crashing to her knees. “Damn!” She cried out, the jarring strike of her kneecaps against solid stone causing her eyes to smart with tears.

The dwarves, who had backed away from the spell, cautiously crept back up to her. “Are…you alright?” Nori asked as Bofur grabbed her elbow to help pull her to her feet.

“I’m sorry…” She wiped away the stinging tears with the backs of her wrists. “I had hoped that this ancient place would have enough residual energy to make this work.”

Bofur gave her back a reassuring pat. “Don’t worry too much about it, lass. It’s not exactly like any of us can make our hands start glowing or anything.”

“I fear this is why Thorin continues to call me useless.” She sighed, brushing the dirt off her knees.

“You shouldn’t take it too personally. He doesn’t exactly like anybody.” Nori chuckled, causing the points of his hairdo to bounce. “Now, weren’t we looking for some treasure?” This caused the elf-maid to smile, and the trio went off to search for goodies. 

* * *

 

Their search lead them up to the top of a neighboring bluff, examining what had once probably been a great beacon of some sort. They hadn’t found anything of note, so to pass some time they decided to climb up on the beacon and perch on the edge, overlooking their camp. Bofur and Nori were competing as to which of them could make a pebble bounce further, when they spotted a movement in the distance.

“What do you suppose that is, some sort of giant bear?” Bofur asked, squinting at it.

“That’s not a bear, you fool, that’s probably just a mountain yak. See, look close and you can make out its horns.”

“A yak? You need your eyes checked, just look at the great hump on its back! Wait…why is the hump moving?”

“Get down!” Cried Elëira, seizing her companions by the fronts of their jackets and leaping down from their perch. She landed heavily and pulled the dwarves low to the ground with her. “If we’re lucky, whatever is riding that thing didn’t see us.”

The creature on the other hill threw its head back and let out a screeching howl, and the thing riding it grabbed a horn and created a bellowing call.

“Run!” Shouted the elf, picking both dwarves up around their middles and tucking them under her arms. She took off running back towards the camp.

“Warg!” Bofur shouted as his elven ride skidded to a halt in the middle of camp. “Did you hear it?”

“Of course we did!” Thorin shouted back, furiously kicking dirt over the campfire. “If we keep low and quiet, it may not find our camp.” The company was quiet and hopeful for a moment, but that was quickly dashed by the sound of approaching orcs. A pack of half a dozen descended upon the camp and circled the company, each of them astride a warg.

The dwarves immediately closed ranks around Bilbo, drawn weapons bristling in a protective formation. Elëira carefully placed herself between the largest orc and the rest of the pack, crouching just slightly to either draw her daggers from her boots or leap at her enemy.

“Get out of here, you stinking oaf.” She growled, fingers wiggling.

The orc growled and spat at her. “What’s an elf doing with these dwarves? Doesn’t matter. Kill them!” It raised his sword arm and directed one of its underlings to attack. Elëira rolled out of the way of a leaping warg, using the motion to grab both her daggers, making both the leaf-shaped blades glimmer in the light of the rising moon. With a swift flick of her left wrist, she switched the grip on that hand and charged back at her attacker. She dodged a swing from a club and jabbed her right dagger into the orc’s wrist, feeling the blade sever tendon, rendering that hand useless.

“Are you going to actually challenge me, or should I put one dagger away and make it fair for you?” She taunted, kicking the warg that had jumped at her under the chin, forcing its head upwards and slashing its throat open. At her cry, the rest of the company broke formation and sprang forth, drawing the attention of the rest of the pack.

Elëira’s foe, who had fallen off his mount, picked up his club in his good hand. “Rotten elf!” It howled, blood splattering the ground. It came at the elf again, swinging its weapon with wild abandon. She blocked the blow with a raised forearm, taking the opportunity to jab forth with her free hand, sinking her dagger into a joint in the orc’s armor and twisting. She leaned back just enough to get some room, pulling her blade out, and then kicked the orc directly in its stab wound, sending it crashing to the ground. The motion caused black blood to spray forth, some of it splattering her in the face, making her spit in disgust.

“Behind you!” One of the dwarves cried out. Elëira spun around and immediately felt a great blow to her chest. A warg had leapt upon her, knocking her down and knocking the dagger from her right hand. It blew great puffs of putrid breath in her face as it tried to tear out her throat. She got her left arm up just in time to get caught in the beast’s jaw and hold its gnashing teeth away from her face, trying to force it away while her right hand groped around for dagger. After struggling for what felt like an hour, her fingers finally came across its hilt.  She grabbed it tightly, flipped her grip, and jammed the blade directly between the warg’s eyes, running it down through its nose and then pressing until the beast fell heavily on top of her and stopped moving.

She remained pinned there until the last enemy fell, and Dwalin pulled the massive carcass off her. She groaned in pain as her captured arm got moved, yanking to remove her knife from the beast’s head before it got wrenched from her grasp again.

“For the love of Mahal, don’t tell me you’ve lost your bloody arm...” He grumbled, staring at the warg’s interlocked jaw. “How are you even supposed to get out of that one?”

“Just…pry it open already!” Elëira growled at him. With a great heave, he managed to pull the lower jaw away from the upper just enough to give her the wiggle room needed for her to get free. She sighed in relief, rubbing the blood and spittle off herself on the warg’s pelt. “I never want to do that again.”

Dwalin grabbed her arm and twisted it over, examining it for wounds. “Not even a scratch…” He rapped two knuckles against her bracer. “How did you manage that? Have you got a layer of Mithril hidden in these things?”

“Mi-what? Just leather here. Enchanted leather, but leather all the same.” She wiped her daggers clean as well before sheathing them back in her boots. “How do you figure I got the name ‘Crossguard’?” She pulled herself to her feet. “You lot alright?”

“We’ve all got some bumps and bruises, but otherwise we’re fine.” Kilí jerked a thumb at Bilbo, who was bent in half and retching. “Think he might be sick though.” No one particularly blamed him, for the scent of death was nearly overwhelming.

“Our location is compromised. We can’t stay here.” Thorin scanned the bodies for anything useful. When he found nothing, he picked up his pack. “We need to find a new camp for the night.” The rest of the company groaned at the idea of walking again, but they complied nonetheless. “We’ll go north and follow the mountains until we find an appropriate pass.” 

* * *

 

The company worked its way north, but came to a halt when they spotted a plume of smoke rising from a clearing.

“Elf, go check it out.” Thorin ordered, pointing at the faint glow of the flames.

“I have a name, you know!” Elëira complained. “And why do you want _me_ to go? I’m not exactly your spy.”

Bilbo grimaced. “Listen, the last time I got spent to spy on someone, I got all of us caught by trolls. So, please…”

She frowned. “…Alright. For you, I’ll go. I’ll whistle on a leaf of grass if there’s trouble.” With a grumble of displeasure, she stalked off. The elf crept closer and closer to the clearing, quietly pulling herself up a tree at the border of the camp. She peered at the people, counting three men wrapped in cloaks of forest green. A rich smell rose from a pot sitting atop their campfire, with one man stirring it and the other two taking turns singing and smoking on long-stemmed pipes.

Elëira leaned closer in order to listen to them. At her movement, a single leaf fell from the tree. Within moments, there were three bows trained upon her.

“Step out, immediately.” Ordered the man closest to her hiding spot. “Reveal yourself or face consequences.”

“Alright, alright, you caught me!” She slipped down from her perch and stepped into the light. “I saw your campfire and got curious.”

The men lowered their bows. “An elf.”

“What are you doing out here in the woods?” She asked, crossing her arms.

The tallest ranger put his arrow away. “We are rangers. This is our duty. You are a Silvan elf, correct? Of the Woodland Realm?”

“An elf, yes. But don’t pay me too much heed.” She watched the other rangers sit back down, returning to their dinner preparations. “I’ve been travelling.”

“Are you travelling with that gaggle of dwarves? We heard them about a mile away, and it makes sense that they’d send the elf to spy for them.” Said the cook.

The elf was taken aback. “Damn…you’re good.”

“It’s part of the job.” Replied the first ranger. “Anyways, I’m known as Strider, and these two are Hawk and Bowstring.” The other two waved at their respective names. “Why don’t you invite those dwarves over here? I’m sure Bowstring can extend the soup a little more.” 

* * *

 

When Elëira got back to the company, all eyes were upon her. “What took you so long?” Thorin’s jaw was set hard; he looked like he had been pacing. “Did you find out what it was or not?”

“I found our camp for the night, and dinner to boot, you ingrate.” She shook her head at him. “That campfire belongs to some human rangers. They heard you lot from a mile away, and seeing as how none of us are dead, it means they’re friendly.”

Thorin sputtered at her for a moment, but was quickly overruled by the rest of the company, who were eager to rest somewhere safe. Upon arrival at the ranger’s camp and some brief introductions, they settled right in to their usual roles. Bombur helped Bowstring prepare more soup, and Hawk produced a big bottle of mead he had picked up somewhere. After a little while, the night was full of song.

While the company was distracted, Strider broke away from the group, motioning for Elëira to follow him. She got up from her seat and walked with him until they were in the shadows, just far enough away that no one could hear them speaking.

“Is it true? Thorin Oakenshield means to retake Erebor?” He asked, fiddling with something in his pocket.

“Aye, they all do. I’m just tagging along for the ride.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s a bit of a long story.”

“You’re starting to care for them.” When the elf made an exclamation of surprise, he laughed at her. “I understand how it feels to want to protect someone.” He pulled his hand from his pocket, bringing with it a small cameo portrait. He glanced at it for a moment before tucking it back away. A flash of light from the campfire reflected off a ring he wore—two snakes coiled around each other, with eyes of emerald.

“They can be right imbeciles sometimes, but most of them aren’t half bad.” The elf-maid shrugged.

“Don’t act too distant; they may need you more than you know.” Strider riffled through his pocket again, this time pulling out a little vial of oil and handing it to her.

“What’s this?”

“Oil distilled from the leaves of the athelas plant. Very useful for orc wounds. Since you’re obviously not from around here, you wouldn’t know this. And it would be a shame for any of them to die from an infected cut.”

“Thank you…” She rolled the bottle between her palms. “But why are you helping us? It’s not exactly like we have anything in exchange.”

“I would not ask compensation; your company needs all the resources it can get. That dragon is a menace to all, and keeping them alive means a better chance of killing it.” Strider turned to head back to the fire. “Rest well for the night. You are safe.” Elëira followed him and bedded down, leaning against a tree and pulling her cloak around her. 

* * *

When morning arrived, Elëira felt very warm and comfortable, even though she had slept on the ground. She opened her eyes to quickly glance around, noticing immediately that the rangers had gone, leaving no trace of their presence. The second thing she noticed was a weight pressing on her, something that hadn’t been there the previous night. She rubbed her eyes and looked down to find that the company had all squished together as they slept, forming a nest of warmth and comfort that had somehow migrated over to include her. It reminded her of a nest of cats. She closed her eyes again and leaned her head back, resting and listening to the softness of their breathing.

Eventually, once everyone woke up, they got back to their journey. The company headed into the mountains, carefully picking their way upwards as they followed a natural path. The careful picking soon turned into swift clambering as rain clouds rolled in, drenching everyone to the bone.

An enormous crashing noise came from the distance and made Bilbo jump, enough that one of his hairy feet nearly slipped off the edge of the path. “Thunder?” He asked nervously as Thorin grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him closer to the rock face.

“No, my boy. That would be the giants down below.” Balin pointed down into the valley, where behemoths made of stone were tossing boulders at each other. Each strike let out a terrible noise, and made the entire mountain shake.

“We should find shelter!” Thorin ordered, pointing towards an opening in the cliff not too far away. Everybody ran for it, and just as the last member slipped inside, a hunk of stone crashed into the entrance, sealing them all inside.

“Damn!” He cursed, fumbling around in the dark. “Well, don’t just stand there, you fools. Someone get a fire going.” After a lot of complaining and bumping into each other, someone managed to produce some tinder and another found their flint, and within moments light flooded their tiny sanctuary.

As Elëira noticed just how small it was, her throat began to tighten. “Oh no…” She sat down heavily, pulling her knees close to her chest. There was no green in this place. It was all dead stone, unmoving, nothing growing. “Can’t…can’t stay here…” She whimpered softly. “Can’t breathe…” The elf was on the verge of hyperventilating when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Alright now, that’s enough panic.” Bilbo said softly, sitting down next to her. “We’re not running out of air. See?” he pointed towards the entrance, where tiny pinpricks of light were managing to peek through. “That boulder didn’t really seal us in here.” He rubbed her back soothingly, until she started breathing normally again.

“Thank you…” She whispered, leaning back against the cave wall. “So…what now?”

The hobbit looked around. “I reckon we wait until they break through that big rock. It shouldn’t take that long, I mean, just _look_ at that pitchfork Bofur’s got!” This made Elëira smile a little, and the two of them decided to move towards the back of the cave to give the diggers some room.

While they waited, they started chatting to pass the time, talking about lovely things they had seen so far to help keep her distracted. Finally feeling more comfortable, she dug her fingers into the sandy bottom of the cave, knowing it wasn’t as bad as it all seemed. But then, a sudden shudder made her gasp. “Hey…is the floor shaking?”

Before anyone else could respond, a massive crack opened up and the floor dropped out from underneath them, sending everyone tumbling into a chasm below.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shenanigans, feelings, and backstory, oh my! Finally, here's the next part. I've got most of the goblin encounter already written out, so it just needs some tweaking. Plus, I don't want to rehash a story I'm sure so many of you know super well. I'll try to make it interesting, at least for its part.


	6. Chapter 6

 “Bilbo!” Elëira exclaimed, instinctively grabbing for the hobbit and holding him tightly. They were sliding down a massive ramp cut into the stone, and the elf dug her heels in to try and slow her descent. There was a large drop at the end, leading to a pen fenced in by sharp spikes. The dwarves were sent careening right into the middle of the trap, and the elf had to think fast if she wanted to avoid that landing. A long bar of metal shot towards her, and the elf immediately grabbed it with one hand, groaning loudly in pain as her shoulder was wrenched by the force of stopping her momentum. She could only look down now in horror as a hoard of goblins descended upon the rest of the company, sweeping them down a rickety wooden scaffold and deeper into the underground chambers.

“Damn.” She swore under her breath. Once it appeared that there were no more goblins around, she let go of her hold and sent herself and the hobbit tumbling into the pen. She landed heavily upon her back, body taking the impact of not just her own weight but Bilbo’s as well. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. But we have to go help the others!” He freed himself from her death grip, yanking his sword from its scabbard and watching as the blue glow slowly faded to nothing. “They’re gone…”

“They’ll be alright, we’re going to rescue them.” Elëira checked that her enchanted bracers were securely fastened, and then drew her twin daggers. “We’ll go in quickly and quietly. Leave the fighting to me, alright? I will keep you safe.”

“Right. Come on!” He scurried forwards, but only got a few meters before three goblins leapt up onto the scaffolding in front of him. He brandished his blade wildly, letting out a yelp of surprise.

The elf seized the hobbit by the jacket and dragged him behind her before lunging at the closest goblin. The blade in her left hand slashed out and left a deep gash in her foe’s bicep, and as it howled in pain she took the opportunity to drive her right blade straight into its eye. It died with a loud gurgle, and Elëira kicked its body away before turning to the next. She dodged an overhead strike from an axe and simply laid a deep gash across its throat, leaving it to bleed out. “Bilbo?” She turned around quickly, wondering where the third goblin had gone.

The echoes of a scream and metal bouncing off rock were all that answered her question. Bilbo had fallen.

“No!” She shouted. Her first instinct was to leap right down after him, but even she could not survive a fall such as that without amazing amounts of luck. Instead, she steeled herself and took off down the path the dwarves went. If she could not save Bilbo, she would be damned if she could not save the rest of the company.

* * *

She arrived to the sight of hundreds of goblins all crowded together, with her companions scrunched into a tight ball before the biggest and fattest goblin of them all. He appeared greatly agitated, and the elf could tell that she needed to be a distraction, and quickly.

She picked a rock up off the ground and pelted it, watching as it bounced off the goblin king’s swollen gut. “Hey ugly! Over here!” She shrieked, charging straight for her dwarves. “Release them!” Her height gave her a slight advantage in being able to force her way through the thick crowds, trying to ignore the claws and teeth that grabbed at her.

“Ugh… an elf!” The king crowed in disgust. “Kill it! Kill them all, and cut off his head!” He pointed his trident directly at Thorin. Elëira screamed in response, she was _so_ close to getting to them. But, the goblins’ bodies formed a shield she could not break through, forcing her to the ground and tearing at her skin. No one would be able to get out of this one, and the elf was almost ready to accept that fact.

Suddenly, there was a great burst of white light which left her head spinning and her ears ringing. She could vaguely sense her captors being forced away, though she was too dazed to immediately stand.

“Take up arms.” Commanded the voice of their rescuer. The company squinted upwards, and were amazed to find that Gandalf had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, wielding his sword and his staff. “Fight!”

With that urging, the dwarves and the elf leapt up to their feet. They scuffled quickly, reclaiming their weapons as Gandalf forced the goblin king backwards, knocking him off the edge of his platform.

“Run!” Gandalf shouted, herding the company down a narrow path. Goblins came at them from all possible angles, but they fought back valiantly, plowing through any obstacle that approached. They ran and fought, then fought and ran, and had to run some more.

Their flight was properly halted on the middle of a narrow bridge, where the goblin king burst up through the wood beneath their feet. “And you thought that you could defeat me!” He taunted, trying to bash Gandalf’s skull in with his club. “What are you going to do now, wizard?” The wizard simply scoffed, and with two swipes of his sword, gashes showed up across the goblin king’s throat and belly. “…That’ll do it.” The croaked, body tumbling forward. The weight of his impact severed the section of scaffolding from the rest, sending it careening down into a pit. Everyone clung for their lives and screamed as they dropped, anticipating their impending doom at the floor.

In a surprising testament to the strength of goblin craftsmanship, the scaffold did not shatter upon impact. It stood up rather well, keeping the company from splattering upon the ground.

“Well, that could have been worse!” Bofur chimed, emerging from the rubble and clawing himself forward. Before he could move too far, though, the body of the goblin king came crashing down, breaking through the wood supports and trapping everyone beneath.

“You’ve got to be _joking!”_ Groaned Dwalin, who had been the closest to the top, and ended up bearing most of the weight.

“No jokes, run!” The wizard ordered, pulling dwarves out and heaving them towards the closest passage. There was a faint glow at the very end of it, signaling an exit to the outside world. Once Elëira had freed herself, she assisted in pulling everybody out, prepared to lift up and carry any who could not go fast enough. She ended up having to sling Ori over her shoulder like a sack, pinning him by his middle as they bolted towards the sunlight.

The company streamed down the mountainside towards an area of pine trees, only slowing once they could not see the exit any longer. Gandalf did a quick count of the members present, and when he came up with only fourteen, he knew something was wrong. “Where is Bilbo?” He asked. “Where is our hobbit?!”

Oh no. “Gandalf, he—he fell!” Elëira exclaimed. “Back when we were dropped in, I kept us from being captured, but—he still fell further, he may be dead…”

Thorin crossed his arms, hefting his branch shield. “If he survived, he would not join us again. That hobbit has thought of nothing but his home since we left! We would be better off without a burglar at all.”

The elf’s temper rose in her throat. “Mind your tongue! Do not be so quick to doubt him!”

“She has a point.” Came Bilbo’s voice from behind the group.

“Exactly, thank you Bilbo… Bilbo!” She whirled around, mouth dropping at the sight of the hobbit, alive and mostly unharmed. “Thank the goddess, you are safe!” The elf wrapped him in her arms, holding him close and assuring that he was not an illusion. “However did you get out of those tunnels?”

“It was not easy. I landed— “His story was cut off by a warg’s howl, coming from the top of the mountain.

“Out of the frying pan…” muttered Thorin,

“And into the fire.” Gandalf finished. “RUN!”

The company bolted down the slope, and nearly threw themselves all over the edge of a precipice. At a loss for options, knowing that they could never fight off a pack of orcs and wargs, they took to the trees, climbing up as high as possible. The wargs without riders tried to scale the trees and catch the lowest-hanging dwarves. The weight of the massive beasts uprooted the thin pines, and in a chain reaction they all started to topple over until the entire company was stranded in a single tree, growing at the very edge of the cliff. The timber groaned precariously under the weight, and soon enough it began to tilt out into the thin air. Gandalf, ever a quick thinker, used his magic to set a pinecone alight, and hurled it down at their pursuers. He set another one on fire and passed it down the line, until everyone had a flaming projectile. They cheered as the fire spread across the ground, causing the wargs to slink backwards.

Their victory would be short lived, because part of the trunk snapped. The tree now hung vertically out into the void, holding by only half of its width by now.

Elëira wrapped herself around her branch with all four limbs, clinging tightly to keep from falling. The only thing that she thought she could do was sing to the tree, and that is what she did. Her voice warbled forth and begged the massive plant to remain strong and support their weight, to dig its roots deeper into the earth and strengthen its trunk. She begged the tree to help, tears beginning to prickle in the corners of her eyes from fear.

Her song was cut off suddenly by a string of the most evil-sounding words she had ever heard. The leader of the orc pack appeared—a massive, white-skinned monster, astride an equally pale warg. Each were covered with nasty scars, but the only thing that bothered Elëira was that the orc was missing one hand. A missing limb would normally not phase her, but this orc had chosen to drive the hilt of a mace through his own body, giving him a permanent weapon he could not put down.

“Azog…” She heard Thorin mutter. “It cannot be…”

The beast taunted him in Black Speech, obviously trying to provoke the king. It worked, because Thorin drew himself up onto the trunk of the tree, drew his sword, and charged forward. Dwalin moved to go after his liege, but the bough he was clinging to snapped, remaining connected to the rest of the tree by a thin layer of bark. This snapped Elëira back into attention, causing her to continue her song. She held on tightly and prayed that her magic could help enough to keep the rest of the company alive.

Thorin charged at Azog and received a mace directly to the chest, sending him flying backwards and against a rock. The dwarven king let out a groan and tried to get up, only to find that a warg had seized him in its jaws and shook him like a doll. Everyone could see how the mail plates around his chest were crushed by the strength.

Azog turned to a subordinate, and gave it an order. The orc drew a wickedly curved knife and approached Thorin, the edge of the blade meeting his neck. His arm rose to strike, and—!

Bilbo charged forwards, slamming into the orc’s side and knocking it off balance. He stood between Thorin and the approaching orc pack, flailing his sword at any who got too close. The pale orc threw his head back and laughed at the display, and began to approach himself. The hobbit paled, his body beginning to tremble. But, his show of courage had inspired the rest of the company. Those who could get back to the ground ran forward and attacked, distracting the pack. Elëira used this chance to scramble onto a firmer part of the tree, voice becoming stronger and louder as hope began to rise within her body. Through her magic, she was able to strengthen the tree, preventing it from breaking any further.

“It’s time to go!” Cried Gandalf, his voice echoed by the mighty cry of an eagle. Eagles the size of horses descended upon the cliffside, alternating between knocking orcs over the edge and snatching up members of the company and whisking them off to safety. Within moments, everyone was either perched upon the back of a bird or held securely in their talons, brought away from the madness and flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's this. I'm not dead!


	7. Chapter 7

After the company cautiously picked its way down from the Carrock, they found a lovely expanse of forest. Elëira immediately felt herself relax after having felt so anxious and frightened in the mountains. She still clung tightly to Thorin’s shield, and was tempted not to give it back to him. At least, not until she gave it some well-needed maintenance. Years of blocking strikes had caused the wood to start chipping, allowing touches of rot to get in.

As they wandered through the wood, Elëira flitted about and picked some green twigs off any trees she found suitable, pressing them into the broken parts of the shield. “Oi, Thorin.” She shouted at him. “You mind if I fix this shield of yours?”

He stomped over to her. “Show me.”

She complied, pointing out the spots she had plugged with greenery. “Look, this is soft. Using my skill, I can reinforce the wood and make the oak durable again.”

“Why not regrow the oak already being used? It is strong.”

“I cannot create new growth from dead wood, Thorin.” She shook her head. “But, I can create something sturdy from what is alive.”

“…Oh.” He slid the grip from between her fingers, putting it back on his arm.

“What, do you not want me to?”

“This has been with me since Moria, and never has it failed me…”

“It still hasn’t. However, it is a piece of equipment, and like all equipment it must be repaired.” She placed her hand back on the wood. “I understand that you are wary of me, and I know you don’t exactly enjoy my company, but I want to help you. Besides, I doubt you would enjoy getting that arm cut off in battle.”

To her amazement, Thorin’s lip twitched and showed the smallest sign of amusement. He loosened his hand, allowing the elf to take the reinforced branch back.

“I’ll fix it up in no time, don’t worry.” She smiled kindly at him, cradling the object in her arms. “Would you…like to watch me?”

“I’m sure I’ll hear it.” He cleared his throat. “Just don’t get too carried away.”

“Alright, I promise I won’t make roses bloom every time you block a hit.” She pretended to pout at him, but couldn’t hold it for long before bursting into laughter.

Thorin stared at her with a raised eyebrow for a moment before allowing himself to crack a real smile. When Elëira spotted this, her grin only widened, making her eyes crinkle.

“You’re actually smiling!” She squealed. “I was beginning to think you didn’t know how.”

“W-Well, don’t get used to it.” The dwarf quickly walked away, face reddening as the sound of the elf’s laughter retreated. 

* * *

 

The company soon came to the edge of the forest, looking out at an open plain, the only landmark of note being a cottage, tucked back against the treeline on the other side. Gandalf through his arms out, signaling for a stop.

“That house, hopefully, will be our shelter for the night.” He announced, gesturing to it with the end of his staff. “Its owner is called Beorn, and he is a skin-changer.”

“Is he friendly?” Fili asked, shading his eyes with his hand to try and see if the great creature was outside. When the wizard only gave him a noncommittal grunt, the prince nervously asked, “Well, is he at least tame?”

Now, Gandalf sputtered. “A tame skin-changer? Perish the thought, master dwarf! Of course he is not tame.” He stroked his beard in thought. “But, he is good. And that is what I am hoping will encourage him to help us.” He scanned the rag-tag group. “Unfortunately, he is not fond of strangers. Stay hidden until I call for you.” He pointed at Elëira and Bilbo. “You two, come with me. The rest of you stay put until I lift my hat, and then only come out two at a time!” He then used his staff to herd the elf and hobbit forward.

As they approached, their potential host came into view. He stood even taller than Gandalf, and hair covered enough of his body to make him appear more animal than man. As of now he was facing away from his visitors, splitting logs with an axe approximately the size of a dwarf.

Gandalf stopped a few meters away and cleared his throat. When that garnered no response, he tried again, louder this time. After being ignored further, he announced “Good morning!” causing Beorn to startle and whip around, axe raised. When he beheld the trio before him, he lowered his weapon, placing it haft-side up and resting his hands on the butt.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” He growled, in a voice so deep it could reverberate in one’s chest.

“Who are—” the wizard cleared his throat again. “My name is Gandalf. I am a wizard, perhaps you have heard of me?”

Beorn wrinkled his nose. “No.”

“Well, that’s alright. No matter.” He gestured to his companions. “This here is master Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire.”

“He’s not a dwarf, is he?” The skin-changer lifted his axe.

“No! Perish the thought, sir. Master Baggins is a hobbit, and a fine one at that.” There was a non-committal grunt. “And then this is—my dear, I’m afraid that I’ve completely forgotten your name.”

Elëira sighed to herself. “Elëira Crossguard, wood elf.” She interlocked her fingers in front of her chest, palms outward, and bowed slightly.

“Hrmph.” He put the axe back down. “What are you doing here?”

“We are travelers, who unfortunately ran into a bit of trouble in the mountains.”

“That trouble didn’t follow you, did it?”

“Follow us? No, no, we handled ourselves quite well.” The wizard chuckled. “If anything, I believe we struck quite a crushing blow to the goblin hoards.”

“If you have brought the wrath of the great goblin down upon you, then it would not be wise for you to tarry here.”

“He is no longer going to be a problem.”

This seemed to pique the skin-changer’s interest. “How so?”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t easy. It started when our group got captured.” Gandalf lifted his hat and put it back on his head. “We were in a cave in the mountains, and suddenly found ourselves absolutely surrounded by goblin forces! There were so many, our group had no chance of escape.”

“Three? A group?” Beorn’s brow rose. “I would hardly call it that.”

The wizard turned briefly to spot two dwarves rushing towards them. “You’re right, a group is a tad excessive for just three. We are more like—a party, I would suppose.” Bifur and Bofur arrived puffing and panting, almost bent double from exertion.

“So, you are five in number. With dwarves in your party.” The skin-changer’s grip on his axe tightened.

The wizard started to stammer a response, trying to come up with a way to continue convincing Beorn to assist them. Seeing that this was going nowhere, Elëira stepped forth to settle the matter.

“Mister Beorn, if I may be so bold. Our entire company is fifteen, with twelve being dwarves. We were captured by goblins in the mountains, but escaped with Gandalf slew the Great Goblin. We are all exhausted, and would be endearingly grateful if we may seek shelter with you for the night.”

Their host thought for a moment, but then shrugged. “Straightforward. Very well, you may come in.” He went back to splitting logs, and Gandalf defeatedly signaled to the remainder of the company.

“A tad too blunt for my liking, but effective nonetheless.” He sighed, planting his hat firmly back upon his head. “What made you think it would work?”

“From what I’ve seen, it is best to be direct and quick when speaking to people holding weapons as big as you are.” She had quickly grown disenchanted with his roundabout way, but didn’t admit it. “We can all tell the story once we get inside.”

The dwarves arrived, some of them looking a bit confused. “Mister Gandalf, what happened to that plan of yours?” Dori nervously fretted with Ori’s hair. “Where’s that Beorn fellow? Did you scare him off?” He glared pointedly at Bofur.

“What? No, he just went inside!” Objected the dwarf with the hat. “He said he’ll let us in.”

“Then why are we all waiting around out here?” Oin plodded over to the door and pushed it open, looking back expectantly at the rest of the company. “Come on, don’t leave the man waiting.” After a few quick glances around, they all headed quickly inside.

The cabin was clearly built for a giant, with furniture large enough for two people to sit comfortably together in one spot. It also stirred wildly with livestock, their pens built into one side of the dwelling, allowing them to live under the same roof as their master.

“Amazing…” Elëira whispered. Being surrounded by carved wood and the lowing of cattle reminded her greatly of her home. She immediately broke away from the group to go interact with the animals, giggling softly as a long-haired cow started nibbling on the hem of her tunic.

“Hello, you little dear.” She smiled, scratching the base of its horns and listening to its soft grunts of enjoyment. “You look just like this one _aennoh_ that would always try to eat the leaves from the end of my _savi_ ’s staff, and he would always get so upset…” She paused. “Why am I even telling you this? You are a cow, and I don’t speak cow…” Reluctantly, she pulled herself away and rejoined the group, catching the tail end of the conversation.

“…go outside at night.” Was all she heard before Beorn turned away to leave. “And do not bother my animals.” He glared sharply at the dwarves and headed out the door. As it slammed shut behind him, the dwarves turned to each other with nervous looks.

“Well then. We will be safe here for the night.” Gandalf propped his staff against the wall and sat down on a massive footstool. “We may as well relax for now.” Everyone decided to explore the house, primarily looking for a hot bath. There were no tubs to be found, but a look out the window revealed a large pond not too far from them. The whole company eagerly ran out to it, all ready to clean the remnants of goblin and orc attacks off their bodies. The dwarves stripped on the way, trailing their clothes behind them and leaping naked into the water. Bilbo trailed a bit behind them, scampering about and picking up the discarded garments, tossing them in after their owners, urging cleanliness. Before long, he was caught and pulled in fully-dressed, sputtering loudly once he came up for air.

Elëira stood on the shore and laughed at the antics, eyes squeezed shut with mirth. She turned away before opening them again, and spotted something growing by the water. “Soapwort!” She exclaimed. Beorn had been clever to cultivate it there. She harvested a stalk, stripping off the leaves and roots. “Use some soap so you don’t offend our host, will you?”

“What are you talking about? We didn’t bring any.” Nori dunked his head underwater, flattening his elaborate hairstyle. The elf just threw a root at him, hitting him in the forehead as he surfaced. “What was that for?!”

“Squish it up and see what happens.”

He did, and looked surprised to find that the root produced a nice lather. “How’d you do that?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “It’s called soapwort, you figure it out.” This earned her a splash, making her squeal as the cold water hit her. “Oi! I’m bathing _after_ you lot!”

“The water’s fine, come on in!” Bofur paddled over and grabbed her by the foot, tugging at her.

“No!” She protested, squirming wildly. “I’m not going to get into a pond with a bunch of naked dwarves!”

“Leave her alone.” Thorin commanded from the other side of the pond, starting to wade over. “If she says no, she means no.” The support was a surprise to Elëira, feeling a bit of a redness start to flush across her chest. This turned to embarrassment as he continued, “Besides, I doubt any lady would ever want to swim with you, naked or not.”

“Why, Thorin! I’m a pinnacle of dwarrow masculinity, isn’t that right lads?” He drew himself out of the water and started posing, driving both Elëira and Bilbo to cover their eyes with their hands and exclaim their displeasure.

“Put your clothes back on!” The hobbit cried out. “Honestly, this is just ridiculous!”

“You’re ridiculous, master burglar.” He retorted, leaping back into the water and landing flat on his back. The resulting splash sent a wave of water over Elëira’s legs, soaking her breeches.

“You’re really insistent on making me strip, aren’t you?” Elëira frowned, starting to pull off her boots to drain them of water.

“Well, when you put it _that_ way…”

“When I put it that way, it means I’ll only be going for a dip once you lot are all back in the house with closed shutters.” She kicked a bit at the foam.

“Don’t tell me that we’re offending your delicate sensibilities, lass!”

The elf feigned surprise. “Me? Delicate sensibilities? If I’m not mistaken, the only example of those belong to Dori!” Her joke created an uproar of laughter at poor Dori’s expense, who was sitting on the bank and scrubbing his jacket clean between two rocks.

“There is nothing funny about being presentable!” He exclaimed, throwing a pebble at Bofur’s head.  “You look like a drowned rat with that hat of yours!”

Thorin looked fed up. “That’s enough of that. I’m starting to feel waterlogged.” He hauled out onto the bank. “Finish up and come inside.”

As the dwarves made their way out of the pond and hung their clothes up on a fence to dry, Elëira looked at their surroundings. She heard a little croak from down in the mud, spotting a tiny, half-buried frog.

“Hello there.” She blinked at it. “What are you up to?”

“Ribbit.” Was the only reply she got as the little creature slipped back into the water. With a shrug, the elf grabbed more soapwort and set to work, trying to get the scent of smoke and goblins out of her clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally a 6k chapter, so I'm splitting it in two. 
> 
> Translations  
> Aennoh: cow  
> Savi: grandfather


	8. Chapter 8

A certain pair of princes squinted at the pond from behind some bushes.

“Kili, remind me _why_ you thought this was a good idea?”

“Hush, brother! I just wanted to see if she’s like us.”

“What in Mahal’s name is that supposed to mean?”

“…I want to see if she has a navel or not.”

_“What?”_ Fili elbowed his brother in frustration. “Why is that even a question?”

“I wanted to be sure that she was _born_ , you know, instead of just…I don’t know, falling out of a tree one day, fully formed.”

“You are an idiot.” The blond prince rolled his eyes. “Just _ask_ her these questions, stonehead. Don’t be shifty about it.”

“I-I’m not being shifty! I was…curious…”

“And you told me she isn’t your type.”

“She isn’t! Or—or wasn’t, I don’t know. I hadn’t seen her fight before. She reminds me of you, brother.”

“…That is disturbing, and I am going inside.” Fili sighed loudly and left, passing Bofur on his way.

“What are you up to, lad?” The hatted dwarf asked as he clapped his hand down on the prince’s shoulder. Kili nearly leapt out of his skin from the surprise.

“No-Nothing!” He announced, heart pounding wildly.

Bofur’s face split into a grin so wide he may as well have just caught the canary. “Finally gotten interested in elf-maids, have you?”

“I’m not! Not like that. I was curious, alright? I wanted to know how similar she was to us.”

“What, if she’s hairy all over?”

“No! …Well, actually, now that you mention it, I was wondering…” He instinctively scratched at his stomach. Dwarves _were_ naturally fuzzy all over. “She looks practically bald from over here.”

“Elves are strange.”

“Aye…”

Bofur poked his head forward a little. “What’s that on her back?”

“What’s what?”

“That thing, look.” He pointed. “There’s something dark on her back but it looks covered up…”

“Odd birthmark? Old scar?”

“Come on, you know scars don’t look like that.”

“Yes, they could!”

The pair continued their bickering, not noticing the topic of their debate getting out of the water and walking toward them. They only paused when they heard the unmistakable sound of wet cloth being flopped over a wooden fence.

“What are you two doing over there?” Elëira asked, hands on her hips. Bofur and Kili immediately clapped their hands over their eyes to shield from her nudity and protect her modesty. She impatiently cleared her throat at them, making them cautiously peer through their fingers to find that she was not nude at all. Long strips of cloth were wrapped and pinned around her chest and hips, hiding the most sensitive parts of her body.

“Oh! You’re…covered.” Kili blinked owlishly at her.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Especially after the way you were talking about me…” She shrunk back, arms crossed over her front, trying to hide behind herself. “I thought you were better than this…”

The young prince stood up, taking off his under-tunic and handing it to her. “I’m sorry, Elëira…I got curious about how, well, if your body looked like a dwarf’s…”

“I hope your curiosity has been sated, then.” She held the tunic against her front.

“No! Well, yes, now that you’re here…” His face reddened from embarrassment. Seeing that, Bofur decided to try and diffuse the situation.

“So…you’ve got some dirt on your back, lass, up near the shoulder.” He announced. “Why don’t you head back to your bath and we pretend this didn’t happen?”

The elf rolled her eyes at his attempt to excuse himself. “First of all, no, I’m not going to just let you go. Secondly, it’s a tattoo, not dirt.”

“Oh, then may we see it?”

After a brief consideration, she nodded. “But, only if you ask my forgiveness. And you give me some of those apples you picked.”

“You drive a hard bargain, lass.” Bofur swept off his hat and dipped into a bow. “Thusly, we humbly apologize for invading your privacy and thusly throw ourselves upon your mercy, if it please you, my lady.” He looked up at her and winked, making her cheeks redden and clutch Kili’s tunic closer to her.

With a slight nod again, she turned around and hooked her thumb into the straps wrapped around her chest, pulling it just slightly low enough to show the ink upon her skin. The tattoo was in the shape of a shield, emblazoned with a red stag rampant upon a field of blue and black. After a few moments she readjusted, turning back around to face the dwarves.

“You know, that’s not an elfy tattoo.”

“It’s not? I never noticed.” She rolled her eyes. “This is the crest of clan Møre, from my homeland.”

“Sounds very human.”

“That’s because it is It is my lover’s clan.”

“Lover, eh?” Kili wiggled his eyebrows at her. “He must be a real catch.”

Elëira sighed fondly. “Aye, that he is…I ought to go see his grandchildren, when this is all over.”

“He’s…a grandfather?”

“I remember where I was when he had his first son. You would think the city was falling apart, the cheers were so loud.”

Kili shook his head. “I’m confused. Your husband had children with someone else? And you still visit the family?”

The elf burst into laughter so intense it nearly bent her in half. “Husband? Jerric?” She managed to wheeze out. “Not likely!”

“You are…definitely a strange one.”

“No stranger than you, that is.” A gust of wind blew past, chilling her wet skin. “Now, would one of you be so kind as to fetch my cloak so that I can go inside and _not_ get gawked at?”

Kili scrambled up and dashed inside to fetch her something to cover her body with. The rest of the company was sitting close to the hearth, wrapped in their own cloaks and blankets as they slowly dried. He snatched her pack and grabbed her cloak out, making it back outside faster than he thought possible. They traded clothes quickly, the elf wrapping her cloak tightly around her body.

“We’re not going to speak about this anymore, understand?” She said, brow set in a hard line. When the dwarves nodded in agreement, the three headed back indoors. The men went to join their fellows near the fire, and the elf kept herself off to the side, getting her blanket out of her pack and spreading it out on the floor. She knelt down, sitting on her legs as she took Thorin’s shield out from its place of rest.

She then began to sing to the old branch, urging it to meld with the new growth she had inserted. She kept her voice quiet, not wanting to disrupt the others. After the events of the past few days, she was more than ready for all the attention to be _off_ of her.

Under the careful ministrations of her voice, new wood grew to fill the cracks of the old. At some points, her voice was barely more than a hum as she kept her focus. The shield on her lap thrummed with energy as the magic passed through it, knitting itself back together. As things finished, she paused, considering for just a moment if she would make any changes. After a moment, she decided, and used her power to etch a single rune into the wood, on the underside—a single _E,_ for Elëira. Satisfied with her handiwork, she placed it back next to Orcrist. The rest of the company had barely noticed anything, too busy messing about. A rich smell of roasting meat rose from the fireplace, accompanied by the occasional sound of fat sizzling on the hot hearth. In a short time, they had managed to hunt down a pheasant, clean it, and get it roasting on a spit. Despite her cultural distaste for meat, the elf was impressed by their effectiveness.

A cursory glance revealed nothing that she was interested in eating, driving her to get up and slip out the back door. Beorn kept a large garden to sustain his livestock, and the affection he felt for them was obvious. Elëira pulled a few root vegetables up from the ground, brushing the dirt off the sweet potatoes and carrots. Upon venturing inside, she elbowed her way over to the fireplace, grabbing the poker and using it to dig a hole in the hot ash. She dropped the potatoes in and buried them, leaving them to slowly roast.

“You’re supposed to dig potatoes up, not bury them again!” Nori protested at her, moving to take the tool from her hand.

“I am cooking them, clever clogs.” She leaned away from his grabbing hands. “Or do you want only fowl for dinner?” She poked the coals, releasing a whiff of potato scent. Almost as if on cue, she heard someone’s stomach growl, making her grin. “That’s what I thought.” The elf sat back on her heels as her companions divided their pheasant into portions, watching them greedily pick every last bit of meat off the bones. Elëira snacked on her carrots to pass the time, merrily crunching away in a comfortable absence of chit-chat.

When the potatoes were ready, Elëira pulled them from the fire, deftly peeling away the skins. Bombur produced a cup full of honey, liberated from a nearly-overflowing beehive just outside the door. The sweet spuds drizzled in honey served as a fine dessert, and the rush of flavor on the tongue sent them all into a happy stupor.

Night had fallen by the time they finished cleaning up, and most of the company was content to settle down and get some rest. Their host had not yet returned, so none dared to occupy the massive bed tucked into a side room. Instead, they bedded down wherever they felt most comfortable, be it on the floor or in a chair.  
Elëira decided to sleep upon a bed of straw in the barn area, finding the soft animal noises comforting. She sat down on her blanket and, before she knew it, a veritable herd of rabbits had descended upon her, obviously smelling the carrots she had eaten earlier, and doggedly trying to retrieve their leafy tops from her pack.

“Hello babies!” She cooed, voice muffled as she fervently gave each set of fuzzy ears a kiss. Completely oblivious to the rest of the world, the elf missed out on the amused whispers of her companions.

“What’s she doing over there? She’s doting on those things like a mother.” Dwalin rolled his eyes at her enthusiasm. “They’re just rabbits, and small ones at that.”

Gandalf chuckled to himself, smoke rising from his long-stemmed pipe. “Never let Radagast the Brown hear you speaking ill of rabbits, or else you may find yourself with…longer ears than usual.”

“But making a complete fool of yourself with them is fine, then?” The dwarf grumbled. “I don’t think she’s taking any of this seriously.”

“Either that, or you’re underestimating her.” Oin prodded the younger dwarf with the butt of his hearing trumpet. “Befriending the rabbits is a move of _genius._ Imagine the secrets they could tell!”

The two glanced back at the elf, who was absorbed in giving all the rabbits names. “You’ll be Schmooples, you’re Lord Fluffington, then there’s Flopsy and Cotton-Tail and Nuzzles…”

“On second thought, she does look quite mad.”

This made the dwarves laugh, and the elf looked up in confusion. “What’s so funny?” She asked, still cradling her newfound friends. “I love them already.”

“They’re _rabbits_ , lass, not house pets.” Dwalin scoffed. “Don’t be daft.”

“Aye, keep laughing. Laugh until the rabbit god turns from you.”

“Rabbit god? You can’t be serious.”

“The rabbit god exists, and I have met him!” She exclaimed, pressing her hands over Schmooples’s ears to prevent him from hearing the blasphemy.

“Now you’re just pulling my leg.”

Elëira blinked a few times. “I’m…not touching you…?”

“We need to work on your expressions, lass. There’s no rabbit god.”

“Of course there is, how do you think my ears got so long?”

The dwarves muttered amongst themselves—the elf had a point. Who else besides someone blessed by a rabbit god would have ears of that length?

“Because Qameira blessed my people at the beginning of time, we are fleet of foot and keen of hearing.” The elf said proudly. “And that is how I was able to track him down, many years ago.”

Bilbo nodded in amusement. “You sound like you’ve got quite the story for us.”

“That I do.” She extracted herself from the pile of bunnies and picked her way over to the rest of the group, being followed closely by her new friends. “It was the start of winter, thirty—no, no, it was sixty, perhaps? Sixty years ago, roughly. I had been tracking the rabbit god for a week, and it had taken another week entirely just to convince him to allow me to see him.” She stepped carefully, using her body to help illustrate the scene. “I had to give him _five_ bushels of carrots, to make him speak with me!”

“Rabbits can’t talk, lass.”

“You are jealous, because they do not wish to talk to you.” She shook her head at their doubt. “Qameira speaks like the wind, and just a tilt of his ears can convey much.” She scooped up the rabbit she had named Lord Fluffington. “With just a wiggle of his nose, he told me secrets I must keep for all eternity.”

“So, you got some secrets from a rabbit. Wonderful. What, are they the best carrots to nibble on?”

“They are secrets, so I cannot share them, fool. But, there is one thing I can tell you about—I was allowed to use an aspect of his power.” She placed the rabbit back on the ground. “I still remember the words…”

“What exactly can words do?”

“These ones in particular stopped a battle.” She knelt down, spreading her arms out like she was cradling something. “I was singing a new staff into being when a loud noise scared Qameira away, cutting my ritual short. I stormed over to its source and found two human armies scuffling. They had stained the freshly fallen snow red…”

The dwarves paid more attention now, for tales of battle were interesting to them.

“In my annoyance, I decided to stop their foolishness.” She stood again, miming her furious walk. “So, I took that staff I had just poured three days into, slammed it into the ground, and shouted the words I had learned. There was a great rumble, and I made the very earth split apart, as if Qameira himself was tunneling beneath the battlefield!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Show us!”

Elëira grabbed Gandalf’s staff from where it rested against the wall. She spun it in her hands and hit the base firmly against the floor, exclaiming _“Ya’avanta kiyoheris damran!”_ There was a loud bang and a flash of green light, and the floor was covered in various vegetables.

Gandalf leapt up from his seat with a great laugh, snatching his staff back from the stunned elf. “Bravo, my dear! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like that.”

Elëira was frozen for a moment, and it took Dwalin throwing a cabbage at her head to snap her out of it. The leaves bounced off her face and she squeaked in shock. “I did something.” She mouthed, the revelation suddenly hitting her. “I finally felt my true magic again!” She nearly screamed in joy. “Even here, after all these years, Qameira is still looking out for me…”

“I was unaware we had a secret magician in our midst.” The wizard gave her a wry grin. “But where could all these have come from? I am sure they did not appear out of nothing.”

Balin peered out the window. “It seems you’ve uprooted the entire garden with that little trick.” Every ripe vegetable in the wide field had been harvested, and was now sitting on the floor.

“Well, that’s summoning.” She bent down to start picking everything up. “Let’s not let all these spoil, shall we?” 

* * *

 

They spent the rest of the night packing the vegetables away into barrels, before the dwarves settled down for the night. But before Elëira could go to sleep, Gandalf stopped next to her pack, clearing his throat and gesturing at the door. She stood up and stepped into the garden with him, where they stood watching a large shadow lumbering in the bushes just past the treeline. “Do you see that?” The wizard asked, taking out his pipe and lighting it with his finger.

“I think it is a bear?” She replied, squinting slightly to make out the shape through the darkness. She could make out the shape of a humped back, covered in thick fur.

“That is our host.” He blew out a puff of smoke. “I did not wish to alert the rest of the company to this, so I trust you to remain silent.” When she nodded, he continued. “There are numerous orc packs in these woods, more so than anything west of the mountains. They caught our trail again as soon as we left the Carrock. Beorn has been keeping them at bay, but he cannot do so for much longer. We must leave this place quickly, and at great speed.”

Elëira shifted, leaning back against the side of the house. “Why tell me this alone?”

Gandalf puffed for a few moments, thinking. “Your display of magic was unlike any I have seen before. What exactly is it that you do?”

“My primary gift is summoning spirits. Yours is fire, correct?” She smiled a bit. “I can practically see them inside of you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Observant.”

“Can you see my energies?” She stood up, moving to directly in front of him. “I can’t channel them from here.”

Gandalf peered at her. “Tell me more about how you function.”

Elëira started pacing. “I summon things. If I come across their true name, I can bring them from their plane to this, and we form a contract.” She gestured with her hands. “And then, through an invocation and an offer of energy, I draw them forth to do my bidding.”

“Interesting. Continue.”

“In my homeland, magic was absolutely everywhere. Everything functioned on it. But here, I… it’s like I’m without one of my senses.” Her mad pacing slowed. “Like someone suddenly took my eyes from my head.”

“I see.” He slowly ran his fingers though his beard, picking away at a few tangles. “It would seem that you have a blockage of some sort.”

She froze. “What? How?”

“Well, this could have occurred any number of ways. A great trauma, the stress of travelling cross-country, who knows, you may have simply slept wrong one night.”

“So how do I fix it?”

“That is for you to determine.” He smiled at her knowingly, finishing his pipe. “Well, goodnight.” The wizard went back inside, leaving the elf alone in the garden.


End file.
